


like an ember in your bones

by p1013



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, but only kind of, you'll see when you read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 00:34:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7292443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p1013/pseuds/p1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke starts to feel like he can breathe again. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath that releases with a slight, broken hitch. He’s about under control, ready to look up at Poe and suggest their next move when he feels Poe’s body press against his, hands cradling his face, and then lips against his, soft and rough and <i>perfect</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [virtualdon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtualdon/gifts).
  * Inspired by [to the sky without wings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5609887) by [leupagus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leupagus/pseuds/leupagus). 



It’s quiet in Luke’s underground office. He can feel the occasional concussion from the Imperial barrage happening above ground, but the sound is muffled by dirt and concrete. He’s trying to finish a report on his last operation, quickly entering data into his console before he evacuates with the rest of the essential staff.

The walls of his office shake again, then collapse, concrete and dirt raining down around Luke as he quickly clambers under his desk, report forgotten. There’s a loud crash from directly above, and then the lights flicker out. He coughs, concrete dust clogging his throat. Light seeps in through the ceiling, casting the remains of his office into spotlights of too-bright light. He blinks, eyes watering, and crawls out from under the desk.

“3PO, where are you?” He shouts, slightly panicked, looking for the familiar glint of gold in the debris. There’s a creak, and a piece of concrete shifts. Luke rushes forward, grabbing at it and pulling. Buried underneath is the crumpled body of C-3PO, his head twisting back and forth as he tries to find Luke. His eyes are dark, his optics clearly fried.

“Master Luke?” He asks, voice querulous, seeking. Luke doesn’t like the hint of fear in the droid’s voice, the tone more serious than his usual whining fright.

“I’m right here,” Luke says, pulling more rubble aside with a grunt. “I’ll get you out of here, just hold on.”

“I can’t see anything,” the droid says, head still twisting around. “And my right side does not seem to be responding. My power levels are also decreasing at an alarming rate. I only have… Oh dear, thirty minutes before I must shut down.”

“I’ve got you,” Luke says, forcing concrete chunks off of 3PO’s body.

Luke finally pulls the last of the rubble away and immediately sees the problem. 3PO’s entire right side is crushed, wires and twisted metal all that’s left of his arm and most of his chest plate. Luke’s shocked that the droid is even functioning, much less moving.

“C’mon, we’ve gotta get out of here,” Luke says, pulling the droid up. Thankfully, 3PO keeps his feet, though he stumbles slightly, his usually awkward gait made worse with the damage to his right side.

“There should be an above ground exit in Hallway J,” 3PO offers.

“Door’s blocked,” Luke says, taking in the huge sheet of concrete that’s filling the other side of the room. “We’re going to have to go out through the ceiling.”

“The ceiling?” 3PO asks, voice high and nervous. “The ceiling has fallen in?”

“It’s alright,” Luke says, wedging 3PO’s left arm over his shoulder. “The holes are big enough for the both of us.”

3PO doesn’t respond, but Luke can tell from the sudden tension in the droid’s body that he doesn’t like that answer.

The climb out of the destroyed office is difficult. 3PO is heavy, and Luke starts to feel the weight pretty quickly, his back cramping before they’re even close to the ceiling. It’s not that there’s a lack of places for his feet, or twisted rebar he can pull himself up with, it’s just that there’s no clear route to the surface. He has to spend time supporting 3PO’s weight while trying to find the next clear path, and the shift between movement and immobility has his muscles screaming. Light spills down from the opening in the ceiling, casting strange shapes in the floating dust, but it shifts and moves as Luke pulls himself and 3PO through the broken structure. He’s sweating and cursing, 3PO quietly reporting his status as they make their way towards safety.

They’re nearly to the top, voices shouting down, when 3PO shudders and powers off. Suddenly, all seventy-five kilos of droid drops into Luke’s right arm, pulling him off balance and threatening to send both of them tumbling back into the wreckage. He barely manages to keep his hold on the droid, his muscles burning. Luke curses, then shifts 3PO, pulling him closer and resettling the weight. He yells up for help, then takes a hesitant step forward, pulling himself and 3PO up a few more inches.

The light suddenly disappears, and Luke looks up into a familiar face. For the first time since the bombardment knocked the ceiling in, he feels like grinning.

“Kid, you sure have a hell of a knack for getting into trouble,” Han says, shaking his head. “You alright?”

“Yeah, but 3PO’s seen better days. If you’ve got a rope or something up there, I’d really appreciate you throwing it down.”

“I’ll be right back. You going to be okay for a few minutes?”

Luke nods.

“Just be quick. He weighs a ton.”

Han disappears, and Luke’s momentarily blinded by the sun. He blinks and resettles 3PO. The droid’s slick casing slides against his sleeve, his hand damp with sweat. Gritting his teeth, Luke wedges himself into a shallow vee created by two pieces of concrete and wraps his arms around 3PO, hugging the droid close. He leans back carefully, waiting for the concrete to shift and send him tumbling into the darkness below, but it holds, only groaning slightly as he rests his weight against it. He’s finally able to get a solid hold on 3PO and breathes out a sigh of relief.

Han comes back a few minutes later and tosses down a rope. Luke uses one hand to tie it around the droid, then shouts up a warning as he slowly releases 3PO. The rope creaks, but the knots hold tight, and Han is able to hoist the droid up and away. Luke sighs in relief, both physical and emotional.

His hands free, the significant weight of the droid gone, Luke nearly flies up the last bit of broken concrete and emerges on the surface, dirty and scraped up and exhausted, but finally safe.

People are rushing all over, running from crater to crater. It looks like the enemy bombardment has finally ended, but the damage inflicted on Forward Base Shan is significant. The woods that surround it are toppled, trees exploded halfway up their trunks, lying like broken limbs on the ground, smoke drifting up into the sky from deeper in the forest. There are medical crews nearby, with a line of stretchers waiting to be taken away. A few are covered, the bodies underneath hidden from the bright sun. Luke sends out a quick prayer of thanks that he’d gotten out relatively unscathed.

He meets up with Han, who’s loading 3PO into his personal carrier, and clambers in behind the damaged droid. Han shuts the loading door, and the interior falls into darkness, a few small red and green status lights the only light inside. Luke buckles in before the ship takes off with a lurch, leaving the Forward Base far behind.

Han’s voice crackles over the comms.

“Leia is going to be furious. She loves that droid.”

“It’s not like I dropped the ceiling on him,” Luke says, rolling his eyes. “She’ll get over it, he’ll get repaired, and we’ll get back to the war.”

“I dunno, kid. He doesn’t look too good.”

Luke glances over where 3PO lays in a heap, broken chestplate and arm glinting dully in the dark. Han has a point.

“I’ll get him fixed,” he says, shaking his head. “I won’t let him stay off forever.”

“And when are you going to have time to do that? You know Leia’s expecting you to take charge of the ops in the Outer Rim, and with how heavy the fighting’s been out there, you’re not going to have time to repair him yourself. And I know you don’t trust anyone but yourself to fiddle with that bucket of bolts.”

Luke frowns again. Leia has been hinting about sending him to the Outer Rim for weeks. The Imperial presence has been increasing lately, and Leia’s convinced it means something. Luke’s inclined to agree, though he doesn’t know what Emperor Palpatine is planning this time. Luke’s spies haven’t been able to shed any more light on the situation, dropping off the radar almost as soon as they’re dispatched to posts in the Outer Rim. He’s lost three good men already, and it’s getting to the point where he’s going to have to go himself, rather than waste any more.

Luke also knows that 3PO’s design, while fairly standard for a protocol droid, has been modified so heavily in the years between when Luke bought him second hand at the main market in Aldera and now that anyone tasked with repairing him would probably miss something important.

Luke sighs.

“I’ll make time for it,” he says, leaning back into the seat. The carrier breaks out of atmo, and suddenly the shaking motion of the craft smooths out, steadies. Han’s practiced hand takes them towards  _ Home One _ , the massive MC80 star cruiser that serves as the head of the Rebel Fleet. Luke closes his eyes, enjoying the silence of space for a brief moment. Considering what’s waiting for him, this is likely the last quiet moment he’s going to get for a long time.

\---

It’s been two months since Luke last saw his sister, and as he walks into her office, he’s shocked to see how much she’s changed. She seems stretched, her eyes tired and withdrawn as she looks up from her desk. Her mouth quirks into a half-smile and she stands, slowly, then comes around the desk to pull him into a tight hug.

“I missed you,” she says, her breath whispering over his ear. He ducks his head, holding her close, reminded achingly of home.

“Missed you, too, little sister,” he says, smiling softly. She steps back and punches him in the shoulder.

“I was born a whole minute earlier, and you know it,” she says, replaying an old argument. “Now,  _ little brother _ , come sit down. How’s 3PO?”

Luke had finally found time to assess the damage an hour earlier. While it seemed that 3PO’s processors were fine, no damage on his main board or in any of the auxiliaries, his battery is destroyed. Backup power is still present, but extremely limited, and the physical damage to his chest and arm is going to take months to repair, even if Luke can find replacement parts out here on the more wild edges of Imperial space. Not much call for protocol droids outside of the Inner Rim, unfortunately.

“He’s fine,” Luke says, shrugging. “He’s got to stay plugged in the whole time, which he hates, and his arm has to be completely replaced, same with his chest plate and battery. But he’s still 3PO. No worries on that front.”

She nods.

“How soon can you find a replacement droid?” She asks. “You’re going to need a translator, and soon.” She sits back down at her desk and grabs a letter. She holds it out to him, then nods for him to sit down. He takes the letter, folding it open slowly, and takes a seat.

“That came in today from the Outer Rim. The cypher isn’t great, obviously rushed, but it doesn’t look good.”

Luke reads it slowly. There’s a large patch of dull red-brown staining the paper, wiping out the second half of the message. The familiar iron tang of blood makes his stomach clench.

“We need to get someone out there,” he says, handing Leia back the letter. “Whatever it is they’re doing, they’re doing a hell of a job keeping it quiet.”

“Luke,” Leia says, sighing and rubbing at the space between her eyes, “I hate to ask it of you, but I need you to go. I don’t trust anyone else to follow up on this, and as much as I hate to send you away, I know you’ll find out what we need to know.”

Luke nods, then reaches for her hand, still resting on the desk. Her skin is cool, and he rubs it idly. She smiles, then turns her hand over, palm up, and they link fingers.

“Whatever you need,” Luke says, squeezing and pulling away in one motion.

“There’s one other thing,” she says, handing him another folded piece of paper. This one is a dossier, a quick overview of a sergeant in the Rebellion: Poe Dameron.

“You’re bringing him.”

\---

Poe ducks, dodging Muran’s fist as it comes speeding towards his face. It’s a wicked right hook, and he feels the air move past his face as he dodges. He counters with a left jab towards Muran’s face, who predictably shifts to the left, forearm rising up to block the blow, and Poe buries his fist into Muran’s stomach. He lets out a huff of air, stunned, and Poe presses the advantage, raining quick blows around his chest and stomach, forcing Muran to drop his guard lower, and Poe gets Muran’s chin with a solid left cross, sending him stumbling back. He gasps, then falls back to the ropes, raising his hand in the signal to pause.

“Damn, Poe. What’s got you all worked up?” Muran asks, still breathing heavily and rubbing at a quickly blooming bruise on his chin.

Poe shrugs, shaking his hands out and bouncing from foot to foot. It’s been a long time since he’s done any hand-to-hand training — he doesn’t really need it, since he’s in an X-wing most of the time — and it’s got his nerves singing, his body wired on adrenaline and pain.

“Not sure,” he says, rolling his shoulders. “Just needed to work some of this energy out, I guess.”

“Well, you worked it out on my ribs,” Muran says, wincing. “I’m gonna be feeling this for a week.”

Poe grins, and he can feel the feral edge of it. Something’s under his skin, something singing out for action and movement. It’s been dogging him for days, ever since he’d gotten back from a recon mission that had nearly led to his entire wing getting blown out of the sky. Muran had been on the run with him, but unlike Poe, he’d come out of it calm, unshaken. Muran was like that, always to the point, always straightforward. Poe wishes he could be more like the man in that regard.

“I’m gonna go get this iced,” Muran says, sliding through the ropes of the boxing ring. “Figure out what’s got you all wound up and take care of it.”

Poe nods. “See you at mess.”

Muran waves him off, then disappears through the double doors leading to the showers. Poe rests his arms on the upper rope, staring after his friend, body still humming with energy. He’s considering going for a run around the track, about to go through the ropes and head that way, when he hears his name being shouted from the other side of the training room.

He stands, turning, to see an impeccably dressed aide heading towards him, a sheet of paper in his hand. He’s got the teardrop shaped insignia of a PFC on his shoulder, and Poe relaxes. If he’s in trouble, they wouldn’t be sending a lower-ranking officer to tell him.

“Sergeant Poe Dameron?” The aide asks again, head swiveling around the busy room. Poe raises his hand.

“Over here,” he says, walking to the opposite side of the ring. The aide looks up at him, eyes widening slightly at Poe’s disheveled state, then passes him the paper.

“Summons to Captain Skywalker’s office, sir,”

_ Maybe I  _ am _ in trouble _ , Poe thinks, opening the paper.

The top right corner is taken up with the insignia of the Rebel Alliance and the Alderaanian coat of arms. The writing on the paper is legible, but only just, and terse.

_ Sergeant Dameron, _

_ My office, 1400 hours. Don’t be late. _

_ Captain Skywalker _

Poe frowns and looks up from the paper, but the PFC has left, the door leading from the exercise room swinging slowly. He slides from the ring, muscles starting to complain about the vigorous exercise as he ducks under the top rope and drops to the ground. He rolls his shoulders again, then heads towards the showers, already trying to figure out what he’s done to piss of the brass this time.

\---

Poe somehow expected Captain Luke Skywalker to be more imposing, but instead he’s met by a slight, attractive man with shaggy blond hair and bright blue eyes. He’s wearing a beautifully pressed uniform with a chest full of pins and military ribbons, and he’s hunched over a pile of paperwork, furiously writing something. He looks up as Poe walks in, pen stopping mid-word.

“Captain Skywalker,” Poe says, standing quickly to attention and saluting.

“Sergeant Dameron,” the Captain says, sketching a quick salute, pen still between his fingers. “At ease, soldier. Please.” He gestures to a chair near the door. “Pull up a seat. It’ll be just a minute.”

Poe nods, then pulls the chair forward. It squeaks against the smooth concrete floor, loud and raucous, and Captain Skywalker glances up at him, head still bent, eyebrow raised. Poe fights the urge to flush and mumbles an apology. Captain Skywalker works in silence for a long minute, then sets his pen down and sits up.

“Do you know why you’re here, Sergeant?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you’re familiar with the tradition of a batman?”

Poe frowns, the term sounding familiar.

“Not terribly, sir.”

“Then allow me to better inform you. Before protocol droids, a batman was a soldier assigned to a commissioned officer as a personal servant or valet. The practice fell out of favor for a long time, but was revived when rich idiots playing at war decided they couldn’t tie their own shoes without the help of a droid.”

“Sir, I’m not sure I understand.”

“You can drop the formality, Dameron. I won’t bite your head off for it.”

“Yes, si-. Understood.”

“My protocol droid was significantly damaged during the last Imperial incursion, the one that took out Forward Base Shan. Now, protocol insists that any royals serving as commissioned officers in the military must be attended by a protocol droid.  _ Or _ a batman. Since I suddenly seem to be lacking in the former, I find myself in need of the latter. Which brings us back to the original point.”

“Sir?”

“General Solo has recommended you for the position, Dameron. You’ll have a day to gather your things and get settled into new quarters, and then you’ll be working with… or rather  _ for _ me. Any questions?”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

Captain Skywalker shoots him a look that Poe takes as tacit agreement and presses forward.

“Do I have any say in this? I’ve been flying X-wings for the last year, and I know I’m doing good there. I’d prefer to stay with my squad,” he pauses again, flushes, “sir.”

Skywalker frowns at the honorific, but doesn’t acknowledge it.

“This is the military, Sergeant. None of us has a say here, not even me. You’re dismissed. Meet me at my quarters at 1800. You’ll have directions sent to your comm.”

“Yes, sir.”

“No more ‘sir’, Dameron,” Skywalker says, stressing the word. “Consider that an order.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Skywalker pauses, then grins. His eyes seem suddenly bright, his face years younger. Poe starts to grin back, then catches himself.

“Get out of here, Sergeant. I’ll see you this evening.”

Poe sketches a salute, then turns crisply and exits. He’s only a few feet from the door when he picks up his pace, then takes off running back towards the barracks. When he stumbles into his bunk, he finds Finn sprawled out on his bed, arms crossed, eyes closed. Poe kicks the frame, setting it ringing, and Finn jerks awake. He nearly falls out of the bed, then glares at Poe once he gains his bearings and stands up.

“What the hell, Poe? I get my first break in the last week and a half, and you’ve got to ruin it.”

“Sorry, buddy. Looks like I’m shipping out.” Poe starts digging through his foot locker, tossing out old porn mags and a half-empty bottle of some unknown, violently blue liquor. Finn catches the bottle in one hand, then pauses.

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” Poe says, removing the last of his contraband. “I just got some kind of special appointment with Captain Skywalker.”

“You’re shitting me,” Finn says, popping the cork top off the liquor and taking a healthy swig. He coughs slightly, then offers it to Poe, who shakes his head, refusing.

“Wish I was, but I’ve got to get all my stuff together and out of here by 1800.”

“Holy shit,” Finn breathes, staring at Poe with wide, disbelieving eyes. He takes another slow sip.

“What’re you going to be doing?”

“I’m his batman?” Poe half-says, half-asks, testing the word out on his tongue. “His protocol droid got wasted, so I’m stepping in.”

“They don’t have another droid? I mean, we need you here,” Finn says, clearly upset. “You’re one of us, man.”

“I know, but I guess they don’t stock a bunch of droids outside of Alderaan. There are rules about the royals, and apparently General Han made the appointment, though I have no idea how he knows who I am in the first place,” Poe says, shrugging. “I’m not even sure what it is that protocol droids do. Shine his shoes, answer letters, maybe? And you and I both know I’m shit at languages. Can’t even speak Wookie without an accent,” he adds as an aside, stuffing things into his locker.

“Well, fuck,” Finn says, sitting down heavily on the bed. “You need any help?”

Poe grins, nodding towards the bottle.

“Help me get rid of that shit and get packed.”

It takes them about a half-hour to get all of Poe’s meager belongings folded neatly into his foot locker, and another two hours to finish off all the alcohol they have hidden away in the bunk. They’re both pleasantly drunk, limbs loose and heavy, and reminiscing when Rey finds them. She stops in the doorway, then leans against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“It’s not even 1700, and you’re drinking?”

Finn grins up at her from where he’s lying on the floor, tilting his head backwards so he can see her, albeit upside down. 

“Rey!” He says, grinning widely. “Poe’s leaving! Have a drink!”

“Thank you, but no,” she says, stepping in and plucking the nearly empty bottle from his hand. “Someone needs to keep their head about them. Where are you going, Poe?”

“Special ‘ssignment,” he says, his words slurred. His tongue feels a little too big for his mouth, and he can’t feel his teeth anymore. Which is weird, but  _ teeth _ are weird. They’re little bones that just show up one day, growing out of your face. He runs his tongue against the back of them, counting slowly, wondering how old they are. Rey coughs.

“Special assignment with?” She prompts, nudging him slightly with her foot.

“Skywalker,” Poe replies, laughing. “They put me with  _ Skywalker _ . The great, mysterious prince of the Rebellion. And the general asked for me,  _ spifically _ .”

“I’m sure he’s going to be very happy with that decision,” Rey says, stepping over Poe’s outstretched legs to grab a cup from his desk.

“You,” she says, pointing to Poe, “need water. And you,” and her voice drops, suddenly threatening, as she directs her gaze to Finn “need to stop encouraging him.”

Finn frowns, then watches as she walks from the room, cup in hand.

“What’d I do?” He asks Poe, eyebrows raised in confusion. Poe starts to laugh, then falls over.

When Rey comes back, she finds Finn and Poe, arms thrown over each other’s shoulders, laughingly singing the Alderaanian national anthem in two different, clashing keys, and she can’t help but join in.

After throwing a cupful of ice cold water in Poe’s face, of course.

\---

Rey makes Poe run laps, sweating the booze out of him one mile at a time. By 1730, he’s a little winded, but a lot less tipsy, and rushing through a shower. Finn and Rey help him cart his foot locker down to Skywalker’s wing just in time.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Rey tells him, face pressed into his neck, her arms tight around his neck when it’s time to say goodbye.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Poe whispers back before shoving her away playfully. Finn just nods, then salutes smartly. Poe returns the motion, and then ruins it by blowing Finn a kiss. The other man rolls his eyes, and grabs Rey’s hand as they head back down the corridor. She frowns at him, but doesn’t drop his hand. Finn smiles down at her, then looks over his shoulder, looking at Poe with a raised eyebrow and a quick downward tilt of his head. Poe shoots him a thumbs up, grinning, and that’s how Skywalker finds him, smiling fondly down the hallway at the retreating backs of his friends.

“Sergeant,” Skywalker says, startling Poe enough to jump slightly. He blushes — something he seems to be doing way too often around Captain Skywalker — and turns to face his new CO.

“My apologies, Captain,” Poe says, bending down to pick up his foot locker. It bangs against his knees as he stands up, but he swallows the wince that wants to escape. He meets Skywalker’s amused gaze, then waits for the Captain to move out of the doorway to follow him in.

“Nice digs,” he says, looking around the spacious room. It has wide windows facing out into the darkness of space, stars glinting softly in the distance. There’s a row of seats beneath them, covered in plush dark blue cushions. Most of them are covered in papers, holopads, and a few mechanical items that Poe can’t even begin to guess at. There’s a table in the center of the room, covered in a similar mess, with a few low chairs surrounding it. At the far end of the room is a massive bed, the blankets and sheets rumpled, discarded clothes spread out on the floor by the foot.

“There may be more than one reason I need a protocol droid,” Skywalker says, bending down to pick up the dirty laundry.

“Seems like you’ve managed to tie your shoes, at least,” Poe says. Skywalker laughs, then walks over to a wall panel that releases into a chute. He tosses the clothes down, then shuts it with a quiet rush of air and a click.

“I’m assuming I won’t be staying in here with you,” Poe says, looking around. Skywalker nods, then walks to the other end of the room. There’s a door, nearly invisible, that slides open to a smaller room. There’s a bed, a small desk, and a chest of drawers, all clean and tidy.

“You’ll be staying in there while we’re still on  _ Home One _ ,” Skywalker says. Poe sets his foot locker down at the end of the bed, then heads back out into the main room.

“There’s a bathroom through there,” Skywalker says, still giving a tour of his quarters, “and there’s a mess nearby, just about a five minute walk —”

“What do you mean, while we’re still on  _ Home One _ ? Where else would we be going?”

Skywalker pauses, the frowns.

“Leia warned me that you were quick,” he says, sitting down at the small table. “Sit down.”

Poe joins him, clearing away some of the clutter on the table.

“How long have you been with the Rebellion, Sergeant?”

“I joined three years ago,” Poe says.

“And already a sergeant.” Skywalker nods. “That’s good, that’s good. You’re, what, nineteen? Twenty?”

“Eighteen, sir.”

Skywalker pauses, eyebrows raised.

“You started early,” he says, shaking his head. “What is Leia thinking?” He mutters under his breath, loud enough for Poe to hear.

“Sir,” Poe says, frowning, “that’s the second time you’ve mentioned General Organa. I thought General Solo recommended me for the appointment?”

“I lied,” Skywalker says, mouth lifted in a cocky grin. “You’ll learn I do that a lot.”

Poe opens his mouth to comment, then stops, waiting for Skywalker to continue.

“What do you know about what I do for the Rebellion?”

“You used to be an X-wing pilot. One of the best, if you don’t mind me saying so. After the battle of Yavin, you were promoted and became a tactician and diplomat. I believe you’ve been in those roles since.”

“And what else have you heard, unofficially?”

“Unofficially? Well…” He pauses, uncertain.

“You’re not going to hurt my feelings, Poe,” Skywalker says, smiling softly. “I’ve heard most of it myself.”

“Rumor is that you’re a spy. It’s why you’re always moving around, always so hard to pin down. It’s also why you were pulled from the X-wings; too flashy, too much attention. And since you and General Organa are siblings, it makes sense that she’d trust you with her covert ops.”

Poe leans back in the chair, letting his arm rest over the back of it, lounging slightly.

“Of course, most people don’t believe it. You’re a prince,” he adds with a shrug. “Not exactly low profile.”

Skywalker sighs and shakes his head.

“Definitely quick,” he says. “Maybe too quick. You’re not far from the truth, though you’ve got a couple of the details wrong. For one, I’m not a spy. I’m a spy master. You’ll understand the difference by the time we’re done. And two, being a prince doesn’t mean I can’t be low profile.”

He grins again, rackish and charming in an instant. Poe feels his breath catch in his throat, then another flush creep up his face.

_ If I could go five minutes without blushing in front of this man _ , he thinks,  _ that would be great _ .

“What do you mean, by the time we’re done?” Poe asks, fighting the frisson of attraction he feels creeping up his spine.

“C’mon, Dameron. Catch up.” 

Skywalker’s smirk and loose confidence do little to help.

“I’m not just going to be your batman, am I?” Poe asks hesitantly.

“There we go,” Skywalker says, mouth curving into a genuine smile. “Are you willing to become a spy for the Rebellion?”

“If that’s what General Organa is asking of me, then yes.”

“No, you have to consider this for yourself,” Skywalker says, frowning, all signs of humor gone in an instant, “not just for her sake. This is a tough assignment, a tough life. You’re going to have to lie to everyone you know and care for. Those friends of yours? You’ll never be able to tell them what you really do, what you really did here. Years down the line, you’ll have to pretend that all you did was fold my clothes and shine my shoes. None of this,” and he stresses the point, eyes serious, voice hard and focused, “is ever to become public knowledge. Do you understand?”

Poe swallows, then nods slowly. 

“Yes, sir.”

Skywalker frowns again.

“And you  _ have _ to stop it with the ‘sirs’ and the ‘captains’. If we’re going to be working together, you need to call me Luke.”

“Prince Luke?” Poe jokes, mouth quirking up into a half-hearted grin.

“Just Luke,” Skywalker says, laughing. “Go get your stuff unpacked, take a load off for a bit, and then we’ll get started on your training.”

Poe stands when Luke does and nods.

“Thank you,” he says.

Luke raises his eyebrow in an expression that Poe is quickly becoming familiar with.

“For trusting me with this,” he continues, waving at the table like it represents the unspoken path that lies before them. “For accepting me for this position.”

“Leia trusts you,” Luke says, like that’s enough of an explanation, enough of a reason. “She’s never been wrong before.”

_ I’ll make sure to keep it that way _ , Poe thinks, making himself a promise. He’s going to do everything in his power to prove himself to this man, to himself. He will be the best damn spy in the Rebellion, and when it’s all said and done, even if he can’t share it with anyone else, he’ll at least know that Captain Luke Skywalker, prince of Alderaan, leader of the Rebel Alliance, knows who Poe Dameron truly is.


	2. Chapter 2

Luke’s idea of training is, well… It’s pretty far from what Poe’s used to. The rest of his training in the Rebel Alliance has been regimented, structured — slightly abusive — but still effective and efficient training. What Luke is doing is… It’s pretty much the exact opposite of that.

It starts with Poe waking up, wondering where all of his stuff has gone. The first morning, it’s his comm pad. The second, his last pair of clean socks (most of his laundry has gotten tossed in with Luke’s giant pile, and their socks have already become irreparably intermixed). On the third day, when he’s unable to find a clean pair of pants and has to walk out of his room in just his white flight shorts, the tight fabric clinging to his body, he starts asking questions.

He finds his comm pad pretty quickly (hidden underneath a stack of books on the central table), his socks are a decidedly lost cause, and his pants are folded neatly by the windows, with a clear, solid crease down the center of each leg.

After that, it gets harder.

Whatever Luke thinks this training is doing, it’s definitely making Poe more paranoid. He starts locking his door, starts setting up his comm pad to record anyone entering or exiting his room. He sets up a trip wire one night, which is surprisingly effective. Luke comes falling through the doorway, cursing as he crashes into the floor between Poe’s bed and desk. Poe gracefully helps Luke to his feet, then sketches a low bow at the door as Luke exits. He locks the door behind his commanding officer, grinning the entire time.

Luke starts sending him on errands. Little trips around  _ Home One _ to gather information. Short trips to the central library, then the main mess and barracks. He hangs out with Finn and Rey, who seem to be growing closer in his absence, and listens for tidbits of information. He brings it all back to Luke in spoken reports —  _ never write anything down _ , Luke tells him one day.  _ Not unless it’s in a cypher, and even then, you want to avoid it. You don’t know what could happen to a transmission, even if you’re handing it to someone directly.  _ Never _ leave a paper trail.  _ — who nods absently throughout the telling, seemingly paying no attention to the briefs. Luke quizzes Poe later, going over the smallest details, down to what kind of shoes Rey was wearing, how long it had been since Finn had cleaned his bunk, what star system they had been in when he’d met with his friends.

And through it all, Poe learns the basics of serving as a batman. He learns how to fold and press Luke’s uniforms, how to arrange and deliver his correspondence, how to make a bed so well that there isn’t a wrinkle anywhere, not even on the plush comforter. He learns how to use a straight razor, learns how Luke takes his coffee and tea, and when and how to pour both correctly.

All in all, it’s a surreal experience, one that leaves Poe wondering what in the hell he’s signed up for with this new position.

But at the center of it all, like some kind of guiding light, is Luke. He scolds and instructs, laughs and waits in silence, all the while learning Poe as Poe learns him.

It’s a solid three months before Luke sends Poe out on his first mission. It’s a trip to the Outer Rim, to the trading post of Harlequin Station. Everything is going smoothly until Poe’s Twi’lek contact tries to get him into bed, crawling into his lap to nip at his lips, her longs fingers twirling in the curls at the base of his neck. He fumbles his way through, swearing there’s a childhood love waiting for him back home, and manages to get out with only a minor blaster wound on his left side. Luke is waiting up when Poe slips into their quarters, sitting in one of the chairs, feet on the central table, face creased with worry.

“How bad is it?” Luke asks, not waiting on ceremony.

“Not bad,” Poe answers truthfully, shrugging his shoulders, though the motion pulls on the fresh bandages on his side.

“Let me see,” Luke says, sliding his feet to the floor and meeting Poe in the middle of the room. Luke’s hands quickly go to the fabric of Poe’s shirt, pulling it from his waistband and over his head before Poe can say anything. The bandages are white against his tanned skin, and Luke rolls them back with a careful, delicate touch. Poe can’t breathe, can’t think, suddenly wondering why Luke’s clinical exploration of his body has him achingly hard against the zipper of his pants.

“Doesn’t look too bad,” Luke says, leaning down close enough to the wound that Poe can feel Luke’s breath against his skin. He breaks out in goosebumps and clenches his fists, trying his best to not lean forward, to try and get Luke to press his lips against the thin skin above his ribs.

“Whoever cleaned this knows what they’re doing. I bet when it heals, there won’t even be a scar,” Luke says, standing up and meeting Poe’s gaze. There’s a brief moment, just a heartbeat, where Poe thinks Luke might understand the sudden want that’s roiling through him, but it passes quickly, Luke thrusting Poe’s shirt back into his hands.

“You’ve got leave tomorrow,” Luke says, stepping back. “And then I’ve got another mission for you.”

Poe nods, his hands tangled in his shirt like a lifeline. He turns his back to Luke, walks into his room, and shuts the door, then collapses against it, panting. He presses his face into the fabric of his shirt and groans, then throws it against the far wall. When he eventually falls asleep, he’s haunted by blue eyes and questing hands, and a nagging sense of inevitability, like this might be the path that he started on as soon as he accepted the post.

\---

Luke has to admit that, blaster wounds aside, Poe excels at spying. He’s smart and adaptable, with an easy wit and charm that puts people at ease. His cocky smile and self-assured confidence allow him to break through people’s guard quickly, leaving them vulnerable. Once he gets over his reluctance to use all of his… resources, Poe will be unstoppable.

Still, Luke feels edgy after the nearly botched mission on Harlequin Station, so the next mission he sends Poe on, he goes with.

It’s pretty basic, at least as far as Luke is concerned, just a hand off of data to another informant in his spy ring. Only problem is that they’ll have to enter Imperial space to do it, his informant in deep cover on an Outer Rim planet controlled by the Empire. The Cronese Mandate is huge, well over four hundred worlds within the system, and they’re headed straight for the center of it: Chandaar and Ambaril City.

Luke piles into the captain’s seat of an older model ship, a nondescript Bothan freighter he’d won a few years ago in a game of cards, with Poe climbing in after him to sit in the co-pilot’s chair. He starts flipping through the startup routine, getting the computers dialed in and the engines humming.

“You sure you remember how to fly this thing, old man?” Poe asks, grinning as he works his way down the pre-flight checklist.

“Old man,” Luke says, scoffing. “I’ll have you know that I was flying ships more complicated than this hunk of junk before you were potty trained.”

“You think you’re helping,” Poe says, making his final check, “but you’re really not. We’re ready to go whenever you are, Captain.”

“Just Luke,” Luke says distractedly, punching in the coordinates for Chandaar. “Don’t make me keep reminding you.”

“Right,” Poe says, the ship lifting with a loud hum. “C’mon, show me what you’ve got.”

Luke isn’t sure if the comment is directed at him or the ship, but he pulls out of the hanger with a flourish, twisting the ship into a quick corkscrew that has the nav computer beeping in protest. Poe’s grin is infectious, and Luke weaves in and out of the space junk that litters  _ Home One _ ’ _ s _ gravitational field with a quiet laugh.

The rest of the flight is pretty mindless, the nav computer doing most of the hard work. Because they’re already in the Outer Rim and need the time to prep for the mission, they don’t use hyperspace. Instead, Luke and Poe go over the details of the mission and get changed into clothes more fitting their cover: a bounty hunter and his younger associate, working together to bring in a particularly nasty Corellian with a large price on his head.

Luke straps a blaster to his hip, then turns to catch Poe sliding a shirt on over his head. The muscles of his back ripple, then disappear beneath the soft fabric. He’s tucking it into dark leather pants, pulling suspenders up over his shoulders, when he turns around and sees Luke staring.

“What?” He asks, reaching to feel at the back of his pants. “Did I not get it tucked in all the way?”

“No,” Luke says, throat dry. “No, you’re fine. Here,” he says, passing Poe a matched pair of blasters and shoulder holsters. “You’ll want these.”

Poe takes them carefully, then slides the holsters over his shoulders, the straps crossing the broad planes of his back. He slips the blasters in, and then grabs a leather jacket.

“Well, how do I look?” He asks after slipping the jacket on, hands spread.

“Like a scoundrel,” Luke says. “I wouldn’t trust you within ten feet of my sister or my credits.”

“Finish getting dressed,” Poe says with a laugh, heading back towards the cockpit. “I’ll get us ready to land.”

Luke nods, then finishes putting on the last of his own outfit, a beat-up canvas jacket with patches on the elbows that fits him like a well-worn glove. He shakes his shoulders, feeling the heavy fabric settle more comfortably against his back, and turns to watch Poe as he sits and starts flipping switches, readying for landing.

_ He’s a good kid _ , Luke thinks, cataloging Poe’s fluid motions through the cockpit entrance.  _ Emphasis on  _ kid.

Luke shakes his head, then sits down in the captain’s chair. Poe nods at him, then passes him the trajectory for their landing.

“Should be a few more minutes,” he says, looking over some auxiliary read outs. “You can see Chandaar up ahead.”

The large, blue-green planet takes up the center of the viewport. Ships crowd the airspace around it, some orbiting, some coming and going from the planet below. They’re mainly Cronese freighters, but there’s a healthy number of Imperial ships mixed in. Poe glances at Luke, body tense. Luke shrugs.

“We’ll be fine,” he says, taking control of the ship to head towards one of the space lanes heading towards Ambaril. “Remember, we’re just here looking for a bounty.”

“Right,” Poe says, nodding.

From this far away, there’s no sign of the cities that sprawl across the planet’s surface — just clouds and wide bodies of water, a few patches of forest and snow — but Luke knows that as the central planet in the Mandate, it’s a busy, crowded place, swarming with life. Their radio crackles loudly as they pass the first of the orbiting ships.

“This is Ambaril Spaceport, signaling Bothan freighter, designation BR-1734. Repeat, this is Ambaril Spaceport.”

“Roger,” Luke says, motioning to Poe to take them in. “This is BR-1734. Request permission to land at Ambaril Spaceport in order to locate and capture a fugitive reported in the city.”

“Understood, BR-1734. Please provide your credentials and the name of the fugitive.”

_ This guy is taking his job seriously,  _ Luke thinks, pulling out the paperwork he’d put together before they left  _ Home One _ . He rattles off his fake name and bounty hunter’s license along with Poe’s, then waits for the controller on the other end of the comms, the long pause in communication making him immediately tense.

“Roger. You’re clear to land, BR-1734. Port 92-B.”

“Roger,” Luke says, sighing quietly. “BR-1734 out.”

The radio crackles for another second, then falls quiet.

“That’s not a good sign,” Poe says, still carefully navigating the freighter through the incoming traffic. “Is it?”

“No,” Luke says, deciding to go with the truth, rather than platitudes. “No, it’s not a good sign. Keep your guard up, and keep your blasters ready.”

Poe nods, quiet, and brings them into atmo.

Ambaril spreads out beneath them, a constantly moving hive of activity. Ships flow through the city in wide lanes, cutting between towering buildings of dark grey stone and shining glass. At the heart of it is the spaceport, a giant circular building that stretches for an easy half mile in each direction, walkways from all the landing bays leading back into the center like spokes on a wheel. Each of the sections is marked with wide, white letters, and Poe flies them into 92-B with an ease that belies the fact that this is only his second time piloting the freighter.

“Nice landing,” Luke says, scrambling from the captain’s seat as Poe finishes shutting down the ship. “Remember,  _ Ben _ ,” he says, stressing Poe’s assumed name. “We’re here to get Thel Colton, wanted for murder in three systems and arson in a dozen more. When we don’t find him, we’ll leave, but not before having a quick drink at The Dying Wookie, which is a bar near the spaceport.”

“Understood,  _ Owen _ ,” Poe replies, checking his blasters before lowering the gang plank of the freighter.

The dock is busy, people moving around them like a living sea. Poe and Luke step into the stream, easily blending into the traffic. They wander the spaceport for a few hours, making a show of checking different docks, questioning anyone who will stop when Luke hails them about their pretend arsonist/murderer. In the end, it ends up being a bit exhausting, so when they finally walk into The Dying Wookie, just ten minutes before their scheduled meet, Luke is grateful for the moment to rest and get a drink.

Poe orders some rotgut local brew and tosses it back immediately, but Luke orders the closest thing to chocolate they have — a Corellian liqueur that could peel paint when taken straight, but is a soft, mellow flavor when mixed with a reddish-brown brew made from leaves from the Tion cluster - and takes a slow sip. Poe is gasping, eyes wide and watering, as he slams his glass back on the table top.

“Holy shit,” he says, drawing out the words. “Am I breathing fire?”

Luke shakes his head, then stands, drink in hand.

“I see our contact,” he says quietly, leaning into Poe’s space. “Order another and stay put. I’ll be right back.”

Poe nods, then waves down a nearby waitress, flashing her a wide grin that has her blushing a bright green, her three eyes fluttering seductively.

Luke ignores the exchange and pushes his way through the crowded bar. His contact, a human woman he met during his first year with the Rebellion, is sitting at a table, back to him. He sidles up to the table, his cup making a loud clatter as he sets it on the top.

“Hey,” he says, flashing a grin that everyone has assured him is charming, “buy you a drink?”

She’s a slight woman, barely taller than five feet, but her face is the kind that you can’t forget. Large green eyes bordered by a dark wash of lashes, a wide, lush mouth, all framed by sharp cheekbones and soft, pale skin. Her hair is shorter than the last time he’d seen her, buzzed close to her head except for a longer portion that covers half of her face in tight curls, still fiery red. She raises a carefully sculpted eyebrow, then gives him a lazy look up and down, lingering on his chest and then dropping to his belt buckle.

“Yeah,” she says, mouth tilted in a seductive smile, “why not?”

“I’m Owen,” he says, waving down a waiter. “And you’re beautiful.”

She laughs, the sound rich and clear in the loud bar.

“I’m Anne,” she says, stretching out her hand. She’s wearing thick work gloves, and Luke grasps her fingers gently, pulling the glove from her hand slowly, lingering. Her mouth falls open in a quiet gasp as the leather falls to the table and he picks up her hand in his, bringing her knuckles to his mouth for a soft kiss.

“Pleased to meet you,” he murmurs against her skin, looking up through his lashes to watch a flush spread across her cheeks.

“Christ,  _ Owen _ ,” she says, taking her hand back a little quicker than necessary. “You’ve been practicing.”

“I think that’s the closest you’ll come to admitting you like me,  _ Anne _ ,” Luke says, laughing. He grabs her glove, and with a quick slight of hand slides the data chip with her new assignment into the thumb. He passes it back to her, then orders another round for the lady.

“How’s it been?” He asks, lifting his cup for a quick sip. The liquor burns smooth and slow down his throat, and he waits as she considers her response.

“It’s been… busy, to say the least. Definitely more activity here than the last time you visited. There’s something big going down, but I haven’t been able to get anything more than that.”

“Be careful,” Luke says, leaning forward with a grin. “We’ve lost a couple guys out here recently. Watch your back, stay low.”

She leans in, too, ducking her head, resting her hand over his where it sits on the table. Her fingers dance over his knuckles, caressing slowly. From a distance, it would look like they were two people making plans for a bedroom, rather than a war room.

“I heard,” she says quietly. “Shifty and I went through training together, remember?”

He nods, then leans in to whisper in her ear.

“You need me, you call. We’re not so far that I won’t be able to come get you.”

She laughs and shakes her head, leaning back, her hand leaving his for her drink.

“I can take care of myself,” she says. “Now, get going. You’ve been here too long as it is.”

She waves him away, and he walks back to his table, shoulders slumped like a man rejected. Poe has a fresh glass in his hand, two empties on the table, and waves as Luke walks up.

“No luck, huh?” Poe asks, grinning, playing along.

“Shut up,” Luke grumbles, setting his glass down on the table. “Let’s go.”

Poe finishes his drink in one smooth swallow, then leaves the glass on the table. Luke’s surprised the younger man isn’t weaving on his feet as they walk back towards their port. Poe takes a winding path back, turning too early, then having to double back to get to the right hallway. It’s taking them twice as long to get back to the ship as it should, and Luke’s starting to get annoyed. He’s going to have to talk to Poe about drinking on the job, about taking stupid risks.

They’re nearly to the freighter when Poe stops suddenly, grabs Luke by the jacket, and throws him into a small alcove with a bank of computers. Fumbling behind him, Poe hits some kind of switch, and the entire alcove closes off into darkness.

“What the hell are you doing?” Luke asks, his body crushed up against an extremely pointy bank of displays, the rest squashed into Poe’s hard body.

“Shut up,” Poe whispers, reaching up to cover Luke’s mouth with his hand. “We’re being followed.”

“Are you serious?” Luke mumbles against Poe’s hand, the skin slightly tinged with salt. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Shut  _ up _ ,” Poe insists, pressing down harder against Luke’s mouth. He waits a second, then slowly moves his hand away. In the muted light of the monitors and status lights, Luke can barely see Poe’s face, but his expression is serious, far from kidding. Poe takes a step closer, pressing up against Luke’s body in a wall of muscle and leather.

“They left the bar at the same time we did,” Poe says, whispering in Luke’s ear, his breath moving the fine hairs at the base of Luke’s neck. “Two guys, walking like Imperials, though they weren’t wearing the uniform. I tried losing them a couple of times, but they kept on us. This was the first opportunity we’ve had to lose them.”

Luke blinks, trying to remember any of the faces in the crowd that had swelled around them after they left the bar, but all he can recall is the quiet rush of success from completing the hand-off successfully and the burn of liquor in his gut.

“What’d they look like?” He asks, whispering.

“Tall, lean, ready to follow orders as soon as they’re given. They were wearing miner’s uniforms, but they weren’t dirty enough, not enough wear in the knees.”

_ Way too quick _ , Luke thinks, shaking his head. 

“Good catch,” he mumbles, shaking his head. “I must’ve been distracted.”

Poe huffs out a laugh, and Luke feels the rush of air against his cheek.

“Can’t blame you,” Poe says. “I have no idea who she was, but I wouldn’t mind getting to know her better, if you know what I mean.”

“She’d eat you alive,” Luke says. “Trust me.”

“Sounds like fun,” Poe says. Luke catches the curve of Poe’s mouth out of the corner of his eye, their bodies too close for him to really see the full smile.

“How long until you think we’re clear?” Luke asks, letting Poe take lead. Poe shrugs, and Luke feels it rather than sees it. He tries to take a step back, but that damned panel is in the small of his back, digging in painfully, and he shifts forward again, into the relative comfort of Poe’s body.

“Ten, maybe fifteen minutes,” Poe whispers, “just to be safe. And we’re going to have to take a different route to the ship. If I had to guess, they’ll have someone watching it.”

Luke nods, then shifts his weight again. The small alcove is getting warmer by the second, his heavy canvas jacket suffocating. The computers are generating a lot of warmth themselves, and Poe must run like a furnace because every time their skin touches, Luke feels a burst of heat. He tries to find a place where he can stand and not be pressed against the younger man or the computers, but fails every time. Poe grunts when Luke steps on his foot, then grabs him by the hips, stilling his motions.

“I know it’s tight,” Poe starts to say, but all Luke can hear is the sudden rush of blood in his ears. Poe’s steady hands move Luke’s hips gently, turning him so that Poe’s back is to the small door of the alcove and Luke is pressed against the back wall, the monitors digging into his back only slightly. Rather than the pain of hard metal and plastic, Luke is transfixed by the gentle touch at his hip bones, the searing heat of the delicate pads of fingers pressed against fabric and leather.

“That better?” Poe asks, leaning in to whisper at Luke’s ear. Luke nods, throat tight, body frozen. Poe is still pressed against him, but now it’s whisper light touches, hints of more that are slowly driving Luke crazy. He knows that Poe is completely unaware of his response, the loose quality of Poe’s body giving away his ignorance to the situation. But with every half-touch, Luke feels his breath stutter, feels his body grow heavy and hard, pounding. 

_ He just turned nineteen _ , Luke reminds himself silently, trying to stop his body’s response.  _ You are a decade older than him. Stop. _

He starts thinking of the worst things he can: the Sarlac pit; that time he met Jabba the Hutt right after the warlord had left a bath; his grandmother without her teeth in.

It thankfully has the intended effect, and Luke starts to feel like he can breathe again. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath that releases with a slight, broken hitch. He’s about under control, ready to look up at Poe and suggest their next move when he feels Poe’s body press against his, hands cradling his face, and then lips against his, soft and rough and  _ perfect _ .

He doesn’t notice the open door or the two angry faces, peering in.

\---

Poe hears the door whoosh open, and does the only thing he can think of: he closes the distance between him and Luke, presses his body against Luke’s from hip to chest, grabs Luke’s face between his hands, and kisses him like his life depends on it. Luke groans, his hands grabbing Poe’s wrists in a too-tight grip. His body is frozen, muscles locked tight, and then Luke falls into the act, burying his hands in the curly hair that ghosts the nape of Poe’s neck. Poe sighs, opening his mouth slightly, and Luke presses forward, his tongue tracing Poe’s bottom lip, his fingers tightening in Poe’s hair. Poe lets his hands rest on Luke’s hips, pulling him closer, and grinds down slightly, his hips twisting just enough to illicit a broken moan from Luke.

There’s a loud cough from behind him, and Poe forgets for a second that this is a cover, an act to stop the men hunting for them from figuring out what’s going on. He turns, furious, and shoots them both a glare.

“Yes?” He asks, tone disbelieving and frustrated.

“Uh…” The first says, taking in their disheveled state and Luke’s slightly glazed expression.

“Are you the pilots of a Bothan freighter, the one in bay 92-B?” The other tries, pushing his colleague to the side.

“What I  _ am _ is busy,” Poe says, turning to face both of them fully. He knows he looks wrecked because he  _ feels _ wrecked. He plays it up, brushing his hair from his face. “And what you are is  _ interrupting _ .”

“Sorry,” the first one mumbles. “C’mon, these aren’t the guys we’re looking for. Let’s go.”

The second one pauses, considering, then lets his buddy pull him away. Poe’s about to turn back, to finish what he’d started, when Luke pushes his way past, heading quickly down the hall towards the freighter.

“We’ve gotta get out of here,” he says when Poe catches up. “They’re going to come back.”

“They’re going to be watching the freighter,” Poe says, glancing down the hall behind them. “How are we going to go in?”

“Blasters ready,” Luke says, pulling his from its holster. Poe nods, then slides both of his blasters out, the weight comforting in his hands.

They reach one of the entrances to B Dock, and Luke puts his back up against the wall, nodding to the other side of the door. Poe slides over, blasters ready, and Luke presses the control panel. The door opens with a quiet whoosh, and then Luke is through, blaster out and pointed forward. Poe follows quickly, ready to cover.

The bay is empty, which is surprising in and of itself. What’s worse is that their freighter is gone, bay 92-B completely empty except for scorch marks from an unknown number of boosters.

“Well, that’s unexpected,” Poe says, letting his guns drop. “Now what?”

Luke looks lost for a brief second, then shakes his head, turning towards a bank of computers near the entrance they’d just come in.

“We’re going to have to steal another ship,” he says, shaking his head. He starts typing quickly, muttering to himself. He gets to a password screen, types in a couple attempts, then cusses and smacks the terminal with the heel of his palm, hard, right above where the unit connects to the wall. The screen flickers, the entire display winking out for a brief second, and when it comes back up, there are the flight logs for the entire spaceport.

“You’re going to show me how you did that later, right?” Poe asks, stunned. Luke ignores him, scrolling through the logs quickly. He stops, then points at an entry.

“There,” he says, making sure Poe notes the hanger address. “That’s our ride out of here.”

Poe looks over the readout, then starts grinning.

“Sir, yes, sir.”

They sneak their way through the docks, slipping through maintenance hallways instead of the main public thoroughfares. They nearly bump into a crew, thickly covered in grease and dirt, but Poe and Luke duck into another computer alcove, bodies pressed together in a way that suddenly brings back their earlier interaction with painful, physical immediacy. Poe opens his mouth to say something, but Luke’s already pushed his way past, moving down the hall.

Poe follows behind, and they burst out into another hanger, this one populated by a few maintenance workers and pilots exiting their crafts. There’s an X-wing in the last bay, a beautifully modified black and orange T-65 that’s had Poe’s hands itching to get a hand on the controls since Luke had pulled it up on the monitor.

“C’mon,” Luke says, nodding. “We’re only going to have one chance at this. Don’t mess it up.”

Poe nods, then takes point, running towards the X-wing. At first, no one seems to notice, but by the time Luke’s joined him in his head long run, the maintenance workers are yelling, there’s an alarm, and Poe is clambering up into the cockpit, sliding into a second seat. The place that normally holds an astromech droid has been converted for a living gunner, and Poe quickly grabs the modified steering column, watching as the fighter’s guns move with his motions. Luke flies into the pilot’s seat, then quickly closes the cockpit, already halfway through the startup procedures. The engines hum to life as Poe buckles himself in, activating the guns with a quick whirr. They’re slowly lifting off, boosters screaming, when a group of Imperial stormtroopers come rushing through the door, blasters firing in a hail of red light.

Poe starts cursing quietly, then angles the guns towards them, firing off a quick volley that has the stormtroopers rushing for cover. Luke seems unfazed, hands steady on the controls as Poe starts yelling status reports to him.

They pull out of the hangar and burst into the air, disrupting traffic as they make their way towards space. They’re nearing the edge of the atmosphere, the sky turning from a light blue to the true black of space, when a TIE fighter comes screaming after them, lasers flashing.

“C’mon, Luke,” Poe shouts, firing off a proton torpedo as the TIE fighter zips past them. “We’ve gotta lose him.”

“I’m working on it,” Luke says, teeth clenched, voice tight. He quickly throws the X-wing into a tight roll, then flips it, sending them flying back towards the TIE fighter. Poe fires a quick volley of shots and whoops when he scores a hit, the right wing of the TIE scattering damaged metal into space. With his wing damaged, the TIE fighter quickly loses its edge on the X-wing, falling further and further behind while Luke and Poe scream ahead into space. Luke punches coordinates into the X-wing’s nav computer, and they make the jump to lightspeed seconds later.

The cockpit is silent, the only sound their breathing and the quiet rush of hyperspace around them. Poe starts to grin, then whoops out a laugh.

“That was awesome!” He says, leaning forward far enough to grab Luke’s shoulder and give it a shake. “Nice flying, Captain.”

Luke doesn’t say anything, body rigid beneath Poe’s palm. Poe frowns, then leans back, lifting his hand as if burnt.

“What’s going on, Luke?” He asks.

“Those Imperials knew we were there. They knew where our ship was, and they knew what bar we were meeting at.”

“They could’ve followed us from the spaceport,” Poe offers. “They might not have known the details of the mission.”

Luke shakes his head, turning awkwardly to look over his shoulder.

“No, they knew to be on the lookout for us. Someone must be passing along information to the Empire,” he says, turning back around and banging his head against his seat with a curse.

“I’m routeing us to one of the uninhabited planets out here. We’re going to have to lay low for a couple of hours, make sure the ship doesn’t have any tracking devices or identifying marks on it.” 

Poe leans back, considering. The cockpit fills with anxious, empty silence. He fiddles with the controls for a moment, looking at their ETA and checking the craft for damage. Then, he sighs.

“You’re worried about her,” he says.

“Who, Mara?” Luke asks, then scoffs. “No, she’ll be fine. She’s been in worse scrapes than this. She knows how to disappear.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t worry,” Poe says, frowning at the slight pout in his voice. If Luke hears it, he doesn’t comment.

The computer beeps, warning them that they’re about to exit hyperspace. Luke switches the controls from automatic to manual, then they explode into normal space, a dark grey world stretching out below them. Luke angles the ship towards the surface, and they break through a heavy cover of clouds. Rain pelts down on the fighter, Luke struggling with the controls for a second before he adjusts to the rough weather.

Poe doesn’t say anything, just checks the radar for a likely landing spot.

“Head north-northwest, about twenty clicks,” he says, looking out the cockpit into the darkness. “I’m picking up a cave or something that direction. We should be able to stash the fighter and keep dry while we get it cleared.”

Luke grunts, pulling at the controls so that the X-wing sweeps to the left, screaming through the rain. Slowly, a mountain range starts to drift up from the darkness, rocky crags reaching high into the cloud cover, a river cutting through the land at their feet. There are a few scraggly trees spread around the banks of the river, and as Poe watches, a huge streak of lightning pours from the sky, striking the trees and sending them into a shower of sparks. If Luke is startled by the sudden explosion of light, he doesn’t show it, his hands steady on the controls as he brings them closer to the mountains.

There’s a huge cavern, right where the radar indicated. Luke carefully hovers the X-wing, then slides it into the cave with a delicate, professional touch. They set down with a slight shifting of gravel and rock, but the X-wing stays stable, and Poe starts to shut everything down.

Luke almost immediately releases the canopy, climbing out of the cockpit to stand on the S-foils, then drops to the ground.

“You got a light in there?” He asks, looking up at Poe. It’s pitch black, the only light coming from the X-wing itself. Poe looks around the cockpit, then finds a small emergency kit. He opens it and tosses down the small flashlight he finds inside. Luke catches it, then turns it on, looking out into the blackness of the cave.

“I’ll be back,” he says, unholstering his blaster. “Get the ship cleared, then wait for me. I won’t be long.”

Poe nods, then starts looking over the X-wing as Luke disappears into the cave.

Besides a few misplaced credits and one particularly disgusting magazine — Poe didn’t know the Hutts had skin mags, and he certainly never expected anyone who could fit into an X-wing to  _ own _ one — there’s nothing of interest in the fighter. Poe does take the time to check out the modifications its previous owner had made. Besides the unique paint job, the engines have been upgraded, along with the blasters. There’s even room for another set of proton torpedos, which gets Poe to wondering who, exactly, had owned this ship and why they’d needed so much extra firepower. He makes a note of the call sign on the ship and finds a small tracking beacon tucked in next to the back exhaust.

“Gotcha,” he says, grinning as he pulls it off. The beacon on it blinks red for a second, then fades to black. Poe tosses the beacon deeper into the cave, listening as it bounces around the rocks with a satisfying clank.

Even with all that, he’s done long before Luke comes back. Poe considers yelling into the cave, but if there’s anyone looking for them — a distinct possibility, since they’d just stolen a ship owned by some kind of paranoid nutjob with enough money to customize a starfighter — he doesn’t want to alert them to their hiding place. Even with the huge sheets of rain still pouring down outside, he’s not going to risk it.

With Luke gone, the mysteries of the X-wing unsolvable for now, and the blackness of the cave leaving him with nothing to focus on, Poe finds himself lost in his thoughts. He’s glad he caught the tail, uncertain what would have happened if he and Luke had arrived at their hangar bay to find their ship missing.

_ Probably would’ve gone back to Mara _ , Poe thinks, frowning. Luke had seemed pretty damn comfortable with the woman. From where he’d been sitting, it had looked like a sure thing. Poe wonders, had he not been there, if Luke and Mara would have had another drink, maybe moved to somewhere a little more private, a little more comfortable.

There’s a twist of jealousy in his gut, and he frowns. It’s not his place to stop Luke from pursuing whatever he wants, certainly not when it comes to women.

But the way he’d kissed him… Poe shakes his head again, then raises his hand to rest his fingers against his lips. It had been powerful, seductive. He remembers the pleasure-pain of Luke’s fingers in his hair, the strong planes of his body pressed tight against him, and he shivers.

It’s not a memory he’s going to be letting go of anytime soon, though he feels uncertain, unsettled. Luke certainly hasn’t been acting like a man interested in a repeat performance. If Poe didn’t know any better, he’d think Luke was running.

Poe climbs back onto the X-wing, laying out between the cockpit and the S-foils. He figures, if he’s going to have to wait, he might as well be comfortable. He closes his eyes, arms and ankles crossed, and listens quietly for Luke to return.

It’s another twenty minutes or so, if he had to guess, before he hears Luke’s footsteps coming back from the depths of the cave. He cracks open an eye, watching as the Captain makes his way back towards the fighter.

“You find anything interesting?” Poe asks, stopping himself from asking Luke what took him so damn long.

“No,” Luke says, offering no further explanation as he climbs into the cockpit. “C’mon, get belted up. It’s time to get out of here.”

“I found a tracking beacon,” Poe says, sitting up.

“Did you destroy it?”

“Yeah,” Poe says, frowning. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Right,” Luke says, powering up the ship.

Poe opens his mouth to say something, but stops, gritting his teeth. He makes his way back into the gunner’s seat and buckles in. Luke closes the hatch, and then slowly backs the ship out of the cave. It’s an incredibly complicated maneuver that he handles deftly, and if Poe weren’t looking for a reason to be pissed at the guy, he’d be impressed.

It’s still raining, which makes take off a little harder than usual. The X-wing struggles for altitude, and lightning cracks close enough to the ship that Poe’s momentarily blinded, blinking away the white-blue light.

They finally burst through the cloud cover, back into clear, open sky, and Luke punches it, the X-wing suddenly leaping forward. They break out of atmo, leaving the dismal planet behind. Poe enters the coordinates for  _ Home One _ into the nav computer, then announces it to Luke, who only nods and pushes the ship into light speed.

They only spend a few minutes in hyperspace, but Luke doesn’t say anything, and Poe doesn’t know where to start. The silence is deafening. All of space is silent, but something about hyperspace has always seemed more quiet to Poe. Like a world after a heavy snow, there’s some special quality to it here, something that makes it seem louder than silence should be.

It drags and pulls at him, begging for something to fill the void. Poe thinks of any number of things to say, then immediately rejects them. Whatever is hanging between him and Luke, it refuses to be acknowledged, refuses to be named. Poe struggles to pinpoint it and fails.

He’s finally about to say something, _ anything _ , when they burst into normal space,  _ Home One _ bright and shining in the distance, surrounded by the Rebel Fleet.

They continue to fly in silence, Luke expertly piloting the X-wing into the main landing bay. A huge crowd gathers around them as they climb out of the ship, the sudden noise deafening. Most people comment on the unique design of the fighter. Poe gets swarmed in a wave of well-wishers, people asking after the story, wanting to know what in the hell he’s doing with Luke fucking Skywalker, so that by the time he gets free, Luke fucking Skywalker is nowhere to be fucking seen.

\---

It doesn’t make any sense that he’s running away, Luke thinks, almost jogging out of the landing bay in his haste to get away from Poe. They basically share the same quarters right now, it’s not like he’ll be able to avoid the man for long.

But he needs the space, needs a chance to clear his head. Even the time alone in the cave hadn’t helped. Poe had been backlit by the X-wing’s lights, a silhouette in the darkness that had tempted Luke as he walked away. If anything, the time alone had made it worse, made him more keyed up and on edge.

He slows a little, knowing that Poe won’t be able to catch up, not with the wave of people who’d met them in the landing bay. Head tilted back, eyes shut, Luke heaves out a sigh that’s nearly a groan, then rubs at the space between his eyes.

For a second, he’d thought that the moment in the alcove — though it had felt like a brief eternity, Poe’s lips, his hands, his body, all pressed so close to Luke that he couldn’t breathe, the want so heavy in his skin and blood it had ached — was…  _ something _ . An acknowledgement, a reciprocation of the hunger that had been taunting Luke. But when Poe had pulled back to face down the Imperial soldiers, even with his mind fried with lust, Luke had slowly caught up, caught on.

_ All part of the game _ , he thinks, trying to forget the taste of Poe on his lips.  _ You were just two steps behind _ .

Luke was behind the entire mission, dammit, and he doesn’t like it. He’s a spymaster, a  _ prince _ . He’s not used to being set off kilter. Something about Poe, maybe, or the mission had him sloppy, unfocused. Maybe it was seeing Mara after all these years, still as beautiful and vibrant as ever. Something rings false about that thought, though he refuses to acknowledge or investigate it.

Instead, he grabs a change of clothes from his rooms, sighing in relief when Poe isn’t there, then makes his way to the large track that spans part of the main deck. He changes, and then he runs. Lap after lap, until all he can feel is burning muscles and the sweat dripping down his back.

Until he forgets soft fingers and lips and dark, heavy-lidded eyes.

\---

Poe heads back to Luke’s quarters, unsurprised to find the place empty. He walks towards his smaller room, shedding the leather jacket and dropping it on the floor of the main room, defiant and irritated. His door sliding shut behind him with not nearly as much force as he’d like, he starts to pull the holsters from his shoulders. He cradles the holsters for a second, then hangs them carefully over his desk chair, the blasters weighting them down. The suspenders are next, then the shirt and pants, until he’s standing naked in his room, staring at the pile of clothes on the floor.

He sighs and grabs a towel from his dresser. He wraps it around his waist, then picks up the clothes, carrying them out to the laundry chute in the main room. He’s walking back to the small bathroom next to his quarters when Luke comes walking through the door, sweaty and exhausted.

Luke freezes, then turns away, blushing.

“Sorry,” he says, eyes still averted. “Didn’t know you were in here.”

Poe wants to snap back, wants to ask where else he’d be, but fights the unwarranted frustration down.

“It’s fine. I’m just going to…” He points towards the bathroom, his other hand holding tight to his towel.

“Yeah,” Luke says, walking towards his bed, back turned. “Same.”

Poe nods even though he knows Luke won’t see it. He walks towards the bathroom, then pauses. He turns again, catching the tight line of Luke’s shoulders as he shrugs his way out of his sweat soaked tank top. Poe opens his mouth to say something,  _ anything _ , to break the tension, but stops, heading into the bathroom instead.

The hot water does little to clear his head. Poe scrubs at his skin, turning it pink, then red. He throws his washcloth to the ground, still angry, still wound up, watching as water pools around it. He’s panting, and he doesn’t know why. He runs a hand through his wet hair, the strands tugging painfully against his fingers as they cling. He takes a deep breath, then another, leaning his head against the wall of the shower and letting the water cascade down his back. After a moment, calmer, though no less confused, he bends down and picks up the washcloth. He wrings it out, then hangs it up, shutting off the water.

He dries himself off completely, then has a moment of regret that he didn’t think to bring a change of clothes with him earlier. He squares his shoulders, takes a deep breath, and walks back into the main room, steam flowing out behind him.

Luke’s not there, though his clothes lay in a discarded pile in the middle of the room. The familiar sight makes Poe grin, though he fights it down before it take hold and stays there. Back in his room, he gets changed into a light shirt and matching pants. He considers the jacket, then grabs it, sliding it back on.

When he leaves his room, Luke is there, struggling with his captain’s uniform. Poe hesitates, then pushes forwards, moving Luke’s fumbling hands out of the way to adjust the lapels and the ribbons and pins on Luke’s chest. With a final jerk on the lapels, the whole jacket settling more neatly around Luke’s shoulders, Poe looks up, immediately caught in Luke’s too bright gaze.

There’s a long moment, their eyes locked, where Poe feels like he’s standing on the precipice of something. He feels off-balance, unsettled on a level he doesn’t want to actively consider. If Luke is feeling anything similar, it’s hidden, his face unreadable.

Poe lets his breath stutter out, then takes a step back, hands dropping to his sides.

“I have to report to Leia,” Luke says, still watching Poe with that blank expression. Poe nods, then tilts his head towards the door.

“I’m going out,” he says, stuffing his hands in the jacket’s pockets. “I’ll be back later.”

“That’s fine,” Luke says. “You’ve got the leave.”

Poe nods again and takes another step towards the door.

“Poe,” Luke says, stopping Poe’s progress with just his voice. “We okay?”

“Yeah,” Poe says, shrugging but refusing to meet Luke’s eyes. “Yeah, we’re okay, Captain.”

Luke doesn’t say anything, doesn’t correct him for using his title instead of his name.

Poe figures that’s hint enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who's been reading so far and taking the time to comment! I've loved hearing your thoughts, and I'd love to hear what you think about this chapter. <3
> 
> Continued love to virtualdon and leupagus. You guys are amazing. <3


	3. Chapter 3

The next few weeks are tense, to say the least. That’s not to say that Poe doesn’t diligently execute his duties, both as a spy and as Luke’s batman. Luke’s rooms are spotless, his clothes carefully pressed and folded, shoes shined to a blinding black gloss. And when Poe is in the field — which is often now, Poe running information around the Outer Rim in the suped-up T-65 they’d stolen from Ambaril — his reports are clear, crisp, concise. He stands at attention when he debriefs, using Captain and Sir liberally in his recitation of facts, names, places.

When they’re not speaking professionally, they’re not speaking at all. Poe avoids Luke like he avoids Imperial soldiers, slipping out of their quarters to disappear into the depths of  _ Home One _ . The rumor mill would lead Luke to believe that Poe’s consorting with a half-dozen of the men and women in the Rebellion, sleeping his way through the ship, one sector at a time. Luke’s inclined to believe it, with how often Poe sneaks back into the room in the middle of the night, hair and clothing mussed, smelling faintly of booze and perfume.

Luke acts like it doesn’t bother him, the formality and the sneaking around. But he finds himself clenching his teeth when he talks with Poe, biting down so hard his jaw aches the next morning, and the assignments he gives to Poe quickly rise in difficulty, keeping him away more often than not.

Leia doesn’t say anything when they have their weekly meetings, just looking at Luke with too-perceptive eyes. He pretends to not notice, but it grates on his nerves, too.

It all comes to a head when Poe comes stumbling into their rooms while Luke is still awake, working quietly at the central table. Poe reeks of alcohol and sweat and sex, and Luke stands up, furious.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Sergeant?” Luke asks, storming forward. Poe straightens up, tossing the hair from his eyes with a careless jerk of the head, and stands at attention, saluting.

“Sir, nothing, sir!” He shouts, sounding so much like a green recruit that Luke wants to punch him in his smug face.

“Cut the shit, Dameron,” Luke says through gritted teeth. “I want to know what you think you’re accomplishing with this — “ he waves his hand at Poe, indicating his disheveled state — “display.”

Poe stays at attention, eyes on the wall behind him, and Luke presses into his space, so damn angry, he can’t breathe.

“Now,” he says, growling.

Poe meets his eyes, and it’s like he deflates, his entire body slumping. He turns his gaze to the side, frowning.

“Nothing,” Poe says quietly. “I’m not  _ accomplishing _ anything. Just… Just give me some space, okay?”

The anger leaves him in a rush, and Luke sighs, running his hand through his hair.

“I’ve been trying to do that, Poe,” he says, shaking his head, frustrated and torn. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but something’s obviously bothering you. I know we’re not… friends,” and he stumbles on the word, feels it tripping over his tongue and lips, “but I am your CO. You can come to me if you’re having problems.”

Poe laughs, though there’s no humor to the sound.

“I don’t think you can help with this,” he says, finally meeting Luke’s gaze. “I just need time, I think.”

Luke pauses, uncertain. There’s a weight to Poe’s expression, something hidden just beneath the surface that Luke is afraid to investigate, but also desperate to understand.

“Well,” he says, “I’m here, if you change your mind.”

Poe nods, then starts towards his room.

“Poe,” Luke says. The younger man stops and turns, eyes shadowed but somehow clearer than they’ve been in weeks. “I’m sorry.”

Poe frowns.

“For what?”

“For Ambaril. I… I understand that it was part of the mission, but that kiss? It was inappropriate. I’m your CO, and, besides that, I’m at least ten years your senior. I shouldn’t have let you do it, or I should have come up with an alternative option. So, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Poe’s face goes blank, shuttered, but he nods.

“If that’s what’s bothering you,” Luke continues, fumbling for clarity in this mess of a conversation.

“Consider it forgotten,” Poe says, shaking his head. “After all, it was just part of the cover, right?”

“Right,” Luke says, shifting uncomfortably. “Go get some rest. We’ve got another mission coming up, and I need to get you briefed in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Poe says. “See you in the morning.”

He turns and walks into his room, the door sliding shut quietly. Alone in the main room, Luke wonders what just happened and what the tight ball in his chest means.

\---

Poe wakes up with a splitting headache and something furry living in the back of his mouth. He groans, then rolls out of bed, tumbling to the floor before he can catch himself. He presses his face into the cool floor tiles, wondering if he can just stay here for the rest of the day, when there’s a loud knock on the door, which obediently and annoying slides open.

Eyes still shut, he hears Luke huff out a quiet laugh. It tugs at something in his chest, something that aches for the ease that existed before this became something complex and muddled.

“Good morning,” Luke says. Poe turns his head to look up at Luke, who’s leaning against the door frame, clearly feeling significantly better than Poe.

“Captain,” Poe mutters, his face sticking slightly to the floor as he pushes himself up. The room spins slightly, and he shuts his eyes, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

“What were you drinking last night?” Luke asks, his voice a mix of concern and laughter.

“No idea,” Poe says, slowly making his way to his feet. “But I won’t be drinking it again.”

“Sounds like a solid plan. Here,” Luke hands him a bundle wrapped in vacuum-sealed plastic. “You’ll need this today.”

Poe looks down, then pulls at a tab that opens the packaging with a quiet hiss. Inside is a neat uniform, dark green.

“Honor Guard?” Poe asks, raising an eyebrow and looking back up at Luke.

“You were going to need it eventually,” he says, shrugging. “And I thought it was time to get you something a little nicer than your jumpsuit and vest. It came in earlier this week, I just wasn’t sure when to give it to you.”

Poe smiles, then laughs.

“Alright,” he says, still grinning. “Thank you.”

“The boots are outside your door,” Luke adds. “There’s also this.”

He hands Poe a patch, a simple shoulder decal denoting a Staff Sergeant. Poe’s a little shocked, and looks at Luke again.

“You’re promoting me,” he says, stunned.

“You deserve it, recent behavior notwithstanding. The paperwork went through at the same time as the uniform request. You’re a good soldier. You won’t be able to wear it for awhile, not until you’re done spying for me, but I wanted you to have it now.”

“Thank you,” Poe says, his voice just a little shaky.

“Now, c’mon. We’ve got a meeting with Her Royal Highness in a half-hour.”

“What?” Poe asks, poleaxed.

“Leia,” Luke says, stepping back out of the doorway. “She’s leading the briefing. Get dressed, we don’t want to be late.”

The door slides shut, and Poe is faced with the terrifying prospect of a meeting with General Leia Organa, leader of the Rebel Alliance, while suffering from the worst hangover he’s ever had. He groans loudly, and he swears he hears Luke laughing from the other side of the door.

\---

Leia is sitting behind her desk, finalizing her notes for the briefing, when Sergeant Dameron and Luke walk into her office. Luke looks better than he has, the hangdog expression he’s been wearing for the last month gone and replaced with something a little more upbeat. Dameron, on the other hand, has looked significantly better. He’s well put together, his uniform neat, but he’s got an unpleasant green tinge to his skin and dark bags under his eyes. Leia raises an eyebrow at Luke, but he shakes his head.

_ Later _ , it says, and Leia chooses to drop it for now.

She stands as the two men approach her desk, then reaches across its surface to shake Dameron’s hand.

“Sergeant,” she says, gesturing to one of the open chairs before her desk. “Please, have a seat.”

Dameron makes himself comfortable, and Luke joins him. Leia presses a button on the underside of her desk to lock the door, then waits while the jammers she’d had installed before they left Alderaan kick into action.

“First, I want to congratulate you on your promotion, Staff Sergeant. You deserve it.”

Dameron grins at her, then ducks his head for a second, before meeting her eyes.

“Thank you, General. I’m just happy to be of service.”

She raises an eyebrow, then laughs.

“You’ve got him trained well,” she says to Luke, then moves on before her brother can comment.

“Second, we’ve finally compiled the information you’ve gathered for us over the last month, and I think we’ve figured out what the Empire is working on. Look at this.”

She presses another button on her desk, and the surface bursts into a holographic projection of the Outer Rim. She zooms in on the Indrexu Spiral, the giant mix of gas and comet debris that splits the Tion Cluster into two halves.

“We got most of this from Mara,” she starts, nodding to Luke, “so make sure to thank her next time you see her. From what we’ve received from our sources, the Empire is building something near the Indrexu Spiral. Problem is, we’re not sure what. At this point, our only option is to send a small team out there to run recon.”

Luke nods, understanding flashing across his face in an instant.

“Because of where it’s located,” Leia continues, “I need to send our best pilots, and because of the nature of the mission, I need to send our best spies. Right now, that means the pair of you.”

“General, permission to speak freely?” Dameron asks, expression uncertain. Leia nods, waiting.

“The Spiral is impassable,” he says, looking at Luke for confirmation. “I mean, there’s no route through it, never has been. If the Empire is building something in there, it’s going to have to be tiny or unimportant, or they’re running a huge risk. And” he adds, looking at Luke again, “even with small fighters, it’s going to be nearly impossible to get through.”

“You’re sure about this?” Luke asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “There’s no way that our analysts have misjudged the data?”

Leia shakes her head.

“No, they’ve gone over it a dozen times, and it’s always the same: the Empire is building something out here, and we need to find out what.”

Dameron nods, back straight, gaze unflinching.

“When do we leave?”

\---

Luke and Poe are leaving Leia’s office, having spent the last hour going over the details of the mission, when she calls out to Luke.

“I need to talk to you,” she says, “alone.”

“I’ll meet you back at quarters,” Luke says to Poe, waving him on. The younger man pauses for a second, then nods and heads out into the hallway. Luke closes the door, then turns to his sister.

“What is it?”

She frowns, arms crossed, then looks at him with her eyebrow raised.

“What’s going on with you and Dameron?”

Luke starts, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Luke,” she says, sighing. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s nothing,” he says, shrugging. “Just a little issue with that drop off on Ambaril.”

“The one where you kissed?” She asks, smirking.

“What?!”

Leia laughs loudly, then shakes her head fondly.

“You’re not the only one with spies, little brother.”

“I don’t even…” Luke says, then takes a quick step forward, finger pointing straight at Leia. “Who is it?”

“Like I’m going to tell you,” Leia scoffs. “Now, tell me. What’s going on?”

“It’s fine,” he says, still frowning. “We got it all settled.”

“It doesn’t look settled to me,” she says, shifting her weight. “It looks like there’s the potential for a problem.”

“It’s on its way to being settled, then. And it’s  _ fine _ , I promise.”

“I don’t want you hurting that boy,” she says, serious, insistent. “He’s a good person, a good soldier, and I don’t need another one of my troops moping after you with puppy dog eyes.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve left a trail of broken hearts all over the Alliance, Luke. The untouchable prince, the ace fighter pilot. We’ve had entire classes of recruits panting after you. I have no idea how you’ve never noticed before.”

Luke is flabbergasted, desperately thinking back to when he was serving in the X-wing core. There was that one pilot who was always asking what he was doing after missions, and there had been that strange note on his holopad that one time. And 3PO had thrown someone out of his room, some kid who’d snuck in late at night while Luke was at a meeting. He’d thought it’d been about a strafing run they’d made the day before, where they’d lost one of their own. But maybe — 

“Please,” she says, breaking his train of thought and taking his hand gently between her own, “don’t add his to it.”

Luke looks down at their joined hands, then squeezes.

“I promise,” he says, meeting her eyes. “I won’t.”

“Good. Take care of him, and take care of yourself. And come see me as soon as you get back. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too,” he says, pulling her in for a tight hug. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

She smiles at him, then pushes him towards the door.

“Go on, then. I’ve got work to get back to.”

He smiles, then leaves the room. The walk back to his quarters is quiet, his mind still spinning through the possibilities. Was Poe attracted to him? After their conversation the night before, probably not. Not that it could turn into anything, and he knows that on every level. But could  _ that _ explain Poe’s strange behavior? The distance, the late nights, the taunting edge to his voice?

Luke shakes his head, not buying it. No. It doesn’t make any sense. Poe has apparently not had any problems finding companionship on  _ Home One _ , and he’s certainly not going to be looking for his next conquest to be Luke. Whatever Leia says about his apparent attractiveness, there are much better prospects in the Rebel Alliance than him.

But when he gets back to their quarters — Poe sitting at the small table, feet on the top, scanning through schematics and mission notes on his holopad, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he reads —  Luke can’t let the idea go. He watches Poe’s fingers on the pad, remembers the feel of them in his hair, on his hips, and blushes. He closes the door behind him, ready to move on from his internal thoughts to the mission, desperate for the clarity it brings.

“You have any questions?” Luke asks, shedding his uniform jacket and joining Poe at the table. Poe kicks his feet to the floor, then sets the holopad down.

“How long do you think we’ll be?” He asks, looking down at the holopad. “Reading these notes, it looks like it could be months.”

Luke shrugs.

“I honestly don’t know. We’re going to be searching through one of the most inaccessible areas of the known galaxy, and we’re going to have to be as subtle about it as we can. That means no flashy X-wing,” he adds.

“Sir, yes, sir,” Poe says with a small grin. “Only those ugly, beat up ones that the Alliance insists are flight worthy.”

Luke rolls his eyes.

“We’ll pack enough supplies for two weeks on the outset. There’ll be people making supply drops for us, and we’ll restock as needed.”

“You know where our base of operations will be?”

“Yes,” Luke says, pulling the holopad closer. “Here.”

He points to a planet nearly center of the Spiral.

“This is Dravione. There are some aeries in the upper reaches of the mountains here. We’ll take one of those as a base. There are a few other planets actually within the Spiral, and we might have to camp there a time or two, but Dravione is just about as perfect a headquarters as we’ll be able to find out there.”

Poe nods, looking over the map.

“You think we’ll find it, whatever it is?”

“I think we don’t have a choice,” Luke says. “Whatever the Empire is doing out here, it isn’t good. Not for us, and not for the galaxy. If we fail, we fail everyone.”

The room falls silent, both men looking at the holopad and the swirling image of the Spiral. Poe nods again, then shuts it down.

“If you don’t mind,” he says, standing, “I’d like to have the rest of the evening off. Just to hang out with Finn and Rey before I leave, nothing like… Well. I’ll be sober when I get back, I promise.”

Luke pauses, considering. Poe looks uncomfortable, eyes shifting from Luke’s face then back to the table.

“You go have a drink with your friends, Sergeant,” Luke says, voice mock-serious. “That’s an order.”

Poe laughs, the easy sound of it settling something in Luke’s chest, and nods.

“Sir, yes, sir,” Poe says, saluting. “I’ll go get my gear packed up, and then I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“We’re leaving early tomorrow,” Luke says. “You’ll be piloting your own fighter, so make sure you’ll be able to handle yourself in the morning.”

“Understood. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Have fun,” Luke says, picking up the holopad to start reviewing the documents himself. Poe heads towards the door, then leaves. Luke can’t explain why, but as he skims through the reports and documents compiled by the analysts, he finds himself smiling softly.

\---

Poe makes his way down to Finn’s quarters, feeling a mix of anxiety and relief. The mission he and Luke are about to go on is going to be no small feat, and the prospect of navigating the Spiral has his hands sweating. The Spiral is a mess of roiling gasses, debris that could crush a fighter in seconds, and unpredictable solar winds. He’s never heard of anyone trying to go through it, all of the major shipping and flight routes going around the massive structure that spans most of the Tion Cluster. And he and Luke are going to dive into it, head first, and they’re going to have to do it over and over again, until they find whatever the Empire is hiding.

He’s not sure he’s looking forward to spending that much one-on-one time with Luke, either. He sighs, then shakes his head, unable to lie to himself. He  _ is _ looking forward to it, but he shouldn’t be. They’re doing better, the uncomfortable awkwardness and anger that had been stirring between them since Ambaril dissipating after last night’s confrontation. But Poe is still fighting to find solid ground with Luke, still uncertain where he stands with the older man.

And then there’s the attraction. He’s known, in an analytical sense, that Luke is attractive. His messy flop of blond hair, those piercing blue eyes, the small divot in the center of his chin. But now, having lived in close quarters with Luke for the last few months, it’s all become more apparent, more visceral. He’s learned the shape of Luke’s shoulders in a dress shirt, the muscled curve of his back as he leans over a table, working. Knows the sound of his laugh, the smell of his sweat. And now that he knows the feel of Luke’s body, his lips and hands, it’s all coalesced into this ache that Poe can’t shake.

He’d tried drinking it away, passing hours with Finn or Rey or both of them, but in the end, he’d just spent the time whining. They’d banned him from bringing up Luke unless it related to his official duties, which he couldn’t discuss anyway. So, in the end, he’d just ended up with hangovers and little relief.

He’d eventually tried easing it with someone else, a random female soldier he’d met while running around the track. They’d had sex in the locker room, quick and messy, but it had done nothing to release Poe from the grips of whatever it is he’s feeling for Luke. He’d found himself, midway through, wondering why her eyes were brown, when he’d sworn they were blue.

He shakes himself, coming to a stop outside of Finn’s room. Whatever is haunting him, he’ll just have to face it. He won’t have time to examine his feelings while he’s hunting Imperials and avoiding asteroids.

He knocks, but there’s no response. Frowning, he keys in Finn’s passcode, and the door slides open.

He looks into the room, then immediately turns around, yelling in surprise.

“Oh, shit. Man, I’m so sorry,” he says, back to the room, blinking rapidly to try and clear what he’d just seen from his mind. He hears quiet cursing, then the sound of someone falling from the bed and fumbling with pants. Finn pushes his way past, then palms the door shut. Poe catches a quick glance of Rey, a thin Alliance issue blanket clutched to her chest, and then Finn is pushing him against the wall, furious.

“What the hell are you doing?” Finn asks, voice whisper quiet and dangerous.

“Sorry,” Poe says, holding his hands up as Finn leans in, Poe’s shirt in a tight bundle in Finn’s fist. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry. Just,” he shakes his head, and then starts grinning. “Congratulations?”

Finn pauses, and then his face melts into a grin, his grip loosening.

“Yeah,” he says. He gets a far off look in his eyes, his gaze falling back to the door. The grin turns softer, something about it gentling, and Poe laughs.

“You’ve got it bad,” he says, shaking his head.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Finn scoffs, letting go of Poe.

“Yeah, yeah,” Poe says, straightening his shirt. “Do you think she’s going to kill me quickly, or slowly?”

“Slowly,” Finn says, nodding. “Definitely slowly.”

“I’m going to make her work for it, then,” Poe says, taking a step away from the wall. “I’m shipping out with Captain Skywalker tomorrow morning, early. I wanted to come by and say goodbye before I left, but…” He looks back at the door, then shrugs. “I don’t want to interrupt.”

“No,” Finn says, his tone sarcastic, “you’re not interrupting anything. How long are you going to be gone for?”

“Not sure. We’re going on a tour of the Outer Rim, some diplomatic thing,” Poe says, sharing the cover story that Luke and Leia had put together that evening. “They didn’t go into too much detail for me. I’m going to be spending most of it on the ship, taking care of Captain Skywalker’s stuff.”

“I still can’t believe they made you his servant,” Finn says, shaking his head.

“It’s a big honor,” Poe says. “And if I don’t fuck it up, I should be able to get my own squadron when I get assigned back to the X-wings.”

“And if he doesn’t reassign you?”

Poe shakes his head.

“No, he’ll get his protocol droid fixed soon, and then I’m back to the front lines. I’m not getting stuck cleaning up his laundry and shining his shoes forever.”

Finn laughs.

“I hope not. We miss you down here.” He claps Poe on the shoulder, then nods back towards his room.

“I should get back in. If we take any longer, she’s going to come out here, and I don’t think either of us want that.”

“No,” Poe says, eyeing the door with distrust. “Give her my love. I’m going to make a break for it.”

“See you when you get back,” Finn says. Poe waves, then starts walking back towards his quarters with Luke. He turns down a hallway, disappearing from Finn’s line of sight, then sighs, leaning against the wall.

_ Now what? _ He wonders. He can’t go back to his room, not when Luke made a point of giving him the night off, and he doesn’t feel like hanging out in the mess or running laps at the track.

So instead, he wanders for hours, walking along the many hallways of  _ Home One _ . Even though it’s a massive ship, with thousands of people living and working on it, Poe only sees a few other people as he meanders. They offer polite nods or waves, but move on quickly, maybe sensing that Poe is looking for solitude, maybe just on their own way to some appointment. He gets himself turned around and lost, the glossy white hallways blurring into each other. He finds maintenance tunnels that seem to lead to nowhere, service paths that open into massive mechanical and electrical structures, places he probably shouldn’t be. He stumbles across one of the main power lines for the ship, the cables crackling with static electricity in giant, arcing flashes of bright blue light. He’s reminded of the lightning on the dark, distant planet that he and Luke had landed on after Amberil, of the power the storm had held. He shivers, then heads back the way he came, slowly finding his way to the familiar spaces of the ship.

He returns to his quarters, pausing for a second at the main door before heading in. The lights are off, Luke an indistinct lump in the middle of his bed. Poe smiles, a short, sharp twinge in his chest the only sign that everything isn’t back to normal. Sighing quietly, wondering what Luke’s face would look like relaxed in sleep, he turns to his room and slides inside, door shutting silently behind him.

He packs his things for the morning, most of it fitting into the serviceable pack he’d received when he’d signed on with the Rebellion. He still has the matched blasters that Luke gave him, and he loops the holsters through his pack’s straps. He cleans the blasters, dismantling them to get any dirt out of the fine crevices, cleaning the focusing crystal and Xciter carefully. He sets one down on the desk, its pieces spread around the central body. He takes a breath, then quickly assembles the weapon, each piece clicking into place with practiced precision. In less than a moment, the blaster is finished, sitting on the desk. Poe grins, then slips it into the holster next to him and puts the second blaster together at a more relaxed pace.

Everything ready for the morning, he undresses and crawls between his sheets, reminding himself that this is going to be the last night he spends in a bed for a long time. Face cradled by his pillow, body curled into a slight arc, he shuts his eyes, breathing slowly as he drifts off to sleep. For the first time in a month, he slides easily into unconsciousness, his dreams blessedly free of blue eyes and strong hands.

\---

The next morning, Luke and Poe are up early. They both dress in their best uniforms — Luke in his captain’s battle dress, Poe in his new honor guard green — and head down to the main bridge. Leia meets them there, then makes a grand speech about Luke spreading goodwill and peace through the Outer Rim, fighting now to get more worlds on the side of the Alliance. Luke stands at attention through the whole thing, trying to look regal and commanding. He feels like an ass, though, when everyone on the bridge applauds, Poe included. He wants to shoot him a glare, but instead makes a slow, studied bow to his sister before spouting some platitudes and then leaving, Poe close on his heels. 

Together, they board one of the smaller cruisers, their things mixed in with a larger stock of supplies. Luke quickly grabs his pack, then starts pulling his normal clothes out: light-weight black pants, a tunic and matching belt, knee high boots, heavy dark jacket. Poe isn’t as quick to change, instead gathering Luke’s uniform and folding it into a careful bundle.

“You know you’re not really my batman,” Luke says, rolling his eyes. “You don’t have to do that.”

“And risk getting this thing wrinkled?” Poe asks, affronted. “No way. It took me way too long to get it crisp to begin with.”

“You’re sounding more and more like C-3PO every day,” Luke says, pulling on a boot.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Poe replies, carefully placing Luke’s uniform in a vacu-bag, then pulling a tab so it seals shuts, the air sucked out in a quiet whoosh.

Poe starts striping out of his own uniform, and Luke turns his back, granting the younger man some privacy and also avoiding a potentially awkward situation. He pulls on his second boot, trying to not be painfully aware of the sound of cloth hitting the floor, or the quiet noises Poe makes as he pulls his clothes on.

Luke finishes tightening the straps on his boots, spending a longer time than usual to make sure they’re all neatly aligned, then turns around. Poe’s tucking his shirt in and grabbing his leather jacket, and Luke breathes out a quiet sigh of relief and regret.

Luke stands, then tilts his head in the direction of the cruiser’s landing bay.

“C’mon,” he says, striding forward with Poe falling into step behind him. “Our fighters await.”

They find two X-wings, old but serviceable, waiting for them, a small ground crew surrounding them. They salute Luke smartly, then start loading astromech droids into each of the fighters, as well as the supplies that Luke and Poe will need to survive the next few weeks. Luke wishes that R2-D2 were with him, but the droid is too independent for its own good, and he can’t put the mission at risk for the sake of sentimentality.

After everything is loaded, he and Poe climb into their fighters. Luke starts running his startup routine, then slides his helmet on. Poe’s already speaking into the comms, testing to make sure everything’s coming through clear.

“Blue Leader, this is Blue 2,” he says, the words confident with familiarity. “Ready to go.”

“Blue 2, this is Blue Leader. Get your droid to run diagnostics while I finish starting up. Shouldn’t be much longer.”

“Roger. Blue 2 out.”

Luke turns his head to look at Poe through his canopy, the younger man bent over his console as his astromech droid starts chirping excitedly in binary. Poe turns around, then starts berating the droid, his words unclear through the canopy of Luke’s fighter. Luke laughs and shakes his head, then has his droid start running a diagnostic check, too. It comes back clean, and Luke signals to Poe, who’s finished arguing with the droid, though Luke isn’t entirely sure who’s won.

“Alright, Blue 2. On my lead.”

Luke fires up the engines, his X-wing rising slowly, and pilots his way out of the hangar bay. Poe follows, and they both click the S-foils open, canting away from the ship.

“Blue 2, your droid should have the coordinates for Dravione.”

“Roger, Blue Leader. I’ve got them keyed in already. Looks like we’re going to need to get comfortable,” Poe says. “It’s going to take a few hours.”

“Keep your eyes open,” Luke says, checking behind him to verify that Poe is in formation. “We should be free and clear on the way in, but once we get closer to the Spiral, we may run into Imperial fighters. And if anyone sees us, we’re going to need to bring them down before they can get word back to their cruisers.”

“Roger. I’ll keep the jammers ready to go.”

“Alright. Stay close.”

Luke hits the thrusters, shooting the X-wing to its top speed in an instant. Poe falls behind for a brief moment, then quickly matches his speed.

It’s a long, tedious flight. There’s not much out in this part of the Tion Cluster. The few worlds they pass on their way to Dravione are uninhabited, most looking like nothing more than floating rocks in the blackness of space. The stars, though, are astonishing.

Luke’s spent a lot of his life in space, traveling between worlds across the galaxy, but out here, it’s breath-taking. The Spiral is a winding serpent in the distance, a great behemoth of gas and debris. And from that roiling mass, new stars are being created. Luke can see them, bright lights shrouded by the Spiral. There must be hundreds of them within its massive depths, along with slowly orbiting planets and planetoids. It’s a new galaxy being formed, a new set of worlds and life in its infancy, and he’s awed and slightly terrified by it. To think that the Empire would pick this place, where nothing is predictable or concrete, to start a covert operation… He shakes his head, disbelieving.

Dravione slowly grows in the distance. Mainly an agricultural planet in its heyday, it’s been left to grow wild. The surface is coated in greenery, but there are mountains rising up into the high atmosphere like sleeping giants rising from their slumber. In the upper reaches are the aeries, one of which will be their home-away-from-home on this mission.

“Blue 2, shoot for the mountain range in the northern hemisphere. It may take awhile to find the place, but there should be a reasonably large aerie there.”

“Roger,” Poe says. “No signs of Imperials, either. We’re looking good so far. Blue 2, over and out.”

They break through the atmosphere, clouds zipping past their wings as they get closer to the mountains. Stark white and grey, with little to recommend them other than their enormous presence, they quickly occupy the entire left side of the horizon. Luke notes a darker patch approaching, then angles his fighter closer.

The aerie is ancient, the stone cracked and crazed, but there’s a large gathering area in the center that looks large enough for their fighters. He closes his S-foils, then turns towards it, Poe following behind. Luke slows, then lands the fighter with practiced ease. Poe settles next to him, and for a moment, all Luke hears is the whistling wind and their engines winding down.

Luke pops the cockpit open, his astromech droid beeping out warnings about the thin atmosphere. It hits him a second later, his lungs protesting, and he coughs once, twice. He’s a little light headed, but it settles, his body quickly adjusting. He hops from the fighter, landing on the ground a little roughly, his palms scraping against the broken pavement. Wind whips around him, throwing his hair into his face and slapping his jacket tight against his body. He shivers, then quickly closes the fastenings. Poe makes his way down from his fighter a little more cautiously, but walks over to Luke as he brushes his hands clean of gravel.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Poe says, looking around the aerie. “I’m a fan of the decor.”

The aerie has definitely seen better days. There’s crumbling stonework everywhere, lichen and moss buried in the cracks where mortar used to be. There’s a hint of the grandeur and elegance that must have defined this space during the reign of Xim, but it’s dulled in the intervening years, victim to time and the high winds.

“Let’s get the droids out and get camp put together,” Luke says, ignoring Poe’s comments. The younger man nods, then heads back to his ship. It’s starting to get dark as they finish unloading, the sky awash in purples and reds, and Luke and Poe make their way into one of the more stable looking shelters in the aerie.

The inside of the building is dark, and they click on lamps, washing the white stone in bright, yellow light. Luke hears Poe gasp quietly, and he can’t blame him. In here, all of the wear and tear that has been inflicted on the exterior is gone. The stonework is carefully carved, gentle undulating curves twisting into more ornate patterns that disappear into the darkness of the high, vaulted ceiling. There are figures covering the walls, too, old faces worn by time, but still grand and powerful, even in their softened countenances.

“This is incredible,” Poe says, running his fingers over the delicate tracery on the wall. “What did they do here?”

“I don’t know,” Luke answers, walking deeper into the building. “Leia was always the better student when it came to history and politics. I’d get bored and start figuring out how to take apart the desk.”

Poe laughs.

“Always wanted to know how things work, huh?” He asks, catching up.

“Something like that,” Luke says.

They walk into a great open room, and Luke stops.

“This looks like as good of a place as any,” he says, setting down his pack. “Let’s get camped and figure out what our plan of action is for tomorrow.” 

They make camp quickly. Luke sets up a massive tent that nearly assembles itself, while Poe gathers rocks from outside and starts a small fire. They have two small pop-up stools that Poe sets closer to the fire, and he settles himself there, pulling supplies from his pack. The flames cast the room into clarity, showing off more of the ornate sculptures that make up the walls. Poe shakes his head, craning his neck around in a slow circle, taking it all in.

“It’s like a piece of art,” he says, voice quiet even as it echos around the chamber, “more than a living space.”

They have a quick dinner, their ready-to-eat meals surprisingly filling. Luke thanks Leia silently for making sure they didn’t get any of the stranger packets. There are some that cater to more alien tastes than his, and he’s thankful for the familiarity of stew and Alderaanian vegetables.

Poe leans forward, setting his plate down on the stone floor.

“So,” he asks, resting his elbows on his knees, legs spread, “what’s the plan?”

“Recon is our primary goal,” Luke says, pulling out his holopad to pull up a detailed map of the system. “We’ll break this area up into different sectors, then clear each one of them out. If we find anything, we report it at our scheduled supply drops.”

“And if we find something big?” Poe asks.

“Then we go back immediately and tell Leia,” Luke says.

Poe nods.

“Let’s get some sleep,” Luke says, standing up. “We’ve got some long days ahead of us, might as well get rest while we can.”

Poe nods, then starts putting out the fire, breaking apart the glowing embers until there’s just a fine layer of slightly glowing ash in the center of the stone ring. He pours some water into the center, then stirs it around, slowly quenching the last of the remaining embers.

Luke grabs both of their packs and brings them into the tent. There are two low cots and not much else. He sets his pack down on one, then tosses the other onto the remaining cot. He sits down and starts taking his boots off as Poe walks in, sealing the tent shut behind him.

“I hate camping,” Poe says, frowning at the cot.

“Really?” Luke asks, starting to work on his second boot. “You picked an interesting career choice if that’s the case.”

“I’ve always wanted to be a pilot,” Poe says, sitting down on his cot and toeing his shoes off. “My mom was one, and I always thought she was the most amazing person in the galaxy. I wanted to be just like her when I grew up. She’d pop me into this broken down A-wing she’d owned since she was a kid, and then we’d fly out to the middle of nowhere on Yavin 4 and camp out for the night, just the two of us.”

“That doesn’t sound like something to hate,” Luke says, smiling. “It sounds wonderful.”

“It was,” Poe says, shaking his head. “But she died a few years ago — her ship failed during a routine exercise, a freak accident — and now, camping always reminds me her.”

He shrugs, trying to pass the motion off as nonchalant, but Luke can read the tension, the remaining grief, in the lines of Poe’s body. Luke reaches across the small space between their cots and rests his hand on Poe’s shoulder.

“My mom died when I was a baby,” he says, squeezing Poe’s shoulder lightly. “I never knew her, and I still miss her.”

Poe nods, blinking quickly and turning his head to the side.

“Thanks,” he says, and Luke pulls his hand back.

He finishes getting undressed, watching Poe out of the corner of his eye the entire time. The younger man doesn’t strip all the way down, which Luke knows Poe prefers — in those early training days, he’d walked into an eyeful more than once — and instead keeps an undershirt and flight shorts on. Luke knows why Poe’s doing it, and he flushes, turning his head so he can’t see Poe, embarrassed. Not because Poe’s half-dressed, but because he’s not comfortable around Luke any longer.

Luke turns around fully and sheds his clothes, stripping down to bare skin. Poe, who’s already laying down, has his holopad propped up, reviewing maps.

“Go to sleep, Poe,” Luke says, turning down the lamp so that the only light comes from Poe’s holopad.

“Just a minute longer,” Poe says, looking up from his pad, his face cast in blue light. “I can dim it, if it’s bothering you?”

“No, it’s fine,” Luke says, turning over so his back is facing Poe. “Just don’t stay up too late.”

“Roger, Blue Leader,” Poe says, slightly sarcastic, slightly fond.

Luke huffs out a quiet laugh, then closes his eyes, shifting until he’s comfortable on the small cot, a thermal blanket pulled around his shoulders. The tent is warm, protected from the wind by both the stone building around them and the heavy duty material that makes up its outer skin. There are also small heaters at the base, helping to weigh down the bottom of the tent and heat it. Luke quickly falls into a half sleep, soothed by the warmth, the sound of the wind, and Poe’s quiet breathing behind him.

\---

They start their hunt in the morning. Poe is sore from the cot, having to stretch his back out before he works on loading his astromech droid, R2-D8. He makes his way slowly up the S-foils, cursing under his breath when his body gives a painful twinge down his right side. Poe eventually gets into the cockpit, settling into the seat with a sigh. He slides his helmet on, then waits for Luke to give the go-ahead to launch.

“Blue 2,” Luke says, firing up his engines. “Let’s go.”

The X-wings leap into the sky, the engines kicking up gravel and dust in a massive backwash of air. Luke takes them out of Dravione’s atmosphere and into the first sector of their search area. This first sweep keeps them out of the Spiral, but it still looms on the edge of their field of vision, a twisting mass that Poe instinctively fears.

There’s not much out in this part of space, and if the Empire is hiding anything, it’s got plenty of room to do it. Those first few weeks, he and Luke don’t see anything except for black emptiness dotted with stars, the writhing body of the Spiral, and asteroids that have gotten lost in the depths of space. But four days after their second supply drop, R2-D8 starts chirping excitedly, outputting an incoming transmission on Poe’s main display.

_ TK-517, report. I repeat, TK-517 report. _

“Blue Leader,” Poe says, quickly hailing Luke on comms. “I’ve got an enemy transmission coming in over here, but I don’t have anything on radar. You see anything?”

Poe keeps watching as the transmission comes in, glancing around his canopy. TIE fighters are deadly fast and dark as sin. Out here, on the edges of inhabited space, they’ve got more than enough places in the sky to blend in.

“Blue 2, I’m not picking up on anything. Can you have your droid send us the frequency you’re listening on?”

Poe’s about to relay the instructions to his droid when he hears Luke gasp.

“Never mind, we’ve got it. It’s definitely Imperial, sounds like stormtroopers.”

“You don’t see anything?”

“No, nothing. And — “ Luke cuts out, and Poe checks for a jamming signal, but his ship isn’t picking anything up.

“— doesn’t make any sense. I can’t see anything on my radar, and now the transmission’s stopped.”

“You cut out there for a second, Blue Leader. You reading me?”

“Yeah, you’re coming in clear. Let’s head back, see if we can’t pick that transmission up again.”

Luke flares his engines, banking his X-wing in a wide arc. Poe falls into formation, following along the outer edge of Luke’s path. They’re quiet this time, listening intently for the missing transmission.

A few seconds later, the transmission kicks back on, Poe’s droid outputting it on his screen.

_ We’re waiting on the main flight deck. Get your ass up here or there’ll be hell to pay. You’re the only one who knows how to fix these things and —  _

The transmission cuts out again.

“Blue Leader, it’s gone again. It doesn’t make any sense. For that narrow of a transmission band, they’d have to be directing it, but I don’t see  _ anything _ out here. There’s nothing for them to bounce it off of.”

There’s a long pause, then Luke cuts in.

“It’s the Spiral,” he says, voice heavy with disbelief. “It’s scattering their transmissions. Look at your readout again. That’s all internal communications. They’re not sending that out to a fighter or a squadron; they’re talking to someone on a ship.”

“And they don’t know we can hear them because we’re way out here,” Poe adds, starting to grin. “We can use that transmission to track them.”

Luke starts to laugh, the sound infectious. Poe can’t stop himself from joining in, whooping in joy. Their months long mission may have just gotten a lot shorter.

Of course, it doesn’t turn out that way. Tracking the signal ends up being a lot harder than they’d first thought. For one thing, the Empire doesn’t always broadcast on the frequency they’ve found, which means their trail of breadcrumbs is regularly missing. For another, keeping track of where they are in space is frightfully difficult. They’re able to pin-point Dravione and the Spiral, but the massive amount of empty space that exists between the two makes it hard to stay reliably triangulated. They lose days of time just hunting for the signal, only to find it for a few minutes before it disappears again. It appears at random, too, sometimes coming through their radios when they’re camped on Dravione, the sound of Imperial soldiers discussing the terrible dinner they’d had or a buddy’s bad date bringing home that, while these are their enemy, they’re still human beings. It sobers Poe, leaves him staring at the ceiling of their tent late into the night, Luke’s quiet breathing a direct counterpoint to his own pounding heart.

It’s frustrating, slow-going work, and it leaves Poe with an unhealthy restlessness that dogs his every step. He takes to walking around the aerie, exploring the cavernous depths of the place late into the night, long after Luke has disappeared into their tent for the evening. 

Poe traces his fingers along the carvings on the walls, wondering at the people who made, and then abandoned, them so many years ago. There’s a particular hallway that he finds himself drawn to time and time again. It’s one that’s heavily covered in human figures, only these are less formalized than the ones in the main room. Where the other carvings are stiff, clothes formal and heavily stylized, these ones are loose, delicate. Some are naked, or wearing so little that any indication of clothing has worn away with time. Their limbs are carefully crafted, gentle curves of flesh that entice and intrigue. He tries to read stories into their motions, wondering what they were doing. There are two figures in the center, standing close enough to blur into one shape in the stone, their edges softened by time until it’s hard to distinguish where one ends and the other begins. He thinks about showing it to Luke, about inviting him into this place that feels so close and intimate, but then he remembers the mumbled apology, the tightness in Luke’s shoulders, and he pushes the urge away, fingers curling into his palm.

The next week is more of the same, only now, they’re running low on supplies. Their drop is in another day or two, and it’s not like they’re starving, but the ready-meals are getting pretty gross. Poe watches disdainfully as his bread bubbles then puffs into a state that could be called edible. It tastes like cardboard and chalk dust, but he forces it down, along with a weird green bar that has to be made out of something that was scraped off the inside of a garbage compactor.

He sets it all down with a bit too much force, and Luke startles, looking up at him with raised eyebrows.

“You alright?” He asks, setting his own meal — Poe won’t dignify it with the word ‘food’ — down near the fire.

“No, I’m not,” Poe says shaking his head. “I’m frustrated and tired. We’re no closer to finding the Empire than we were a month ago, and that damn signal isn’t getting us anywhere. We’ve searched two of the five sectors and nothing. Not even their garbage. They’re out there, we know it, but I have no idea how we’re going to find them.”

Poe’s shaking a little, and he doesn’t like it. He leans forward on his knees, resting his head in his hands for a second before running his fingers through his hair and bursting to his feet.

“I’m not like you, Luke. I’m not good at waiting.” He stares into the blackness of the room, waiting for his eyes to adjust from the bright firelight.

“Poe, I understand, I really do, but you hav—”

“I know,” he says, shaking his head. “I  _ know _ . I just hate feeling like this.”

Luke is silent for a long time. Poe can hear the wind whistling outside, and suddenly wants to feel it biting into his skin. He shifts his weight forward, then takes a step.

“I’m going for a walk,” he sighs, looking back at the fire. Luke is looking at him with an expression of worry, and it makes Poe just as frustrated as their lack of success. He’s tired of Luke’s pitying looks, tired of the way that Luke seems to examine him, as if he can reach in and remove the part that’s malfunctioning and suddenly have Poe back to where he was when he signed on for this job.

Poe can’t wait any longer, needs to get out. He turns, feet pounding on the hard stone. Outside, his steps are muffled by wind and vegetation, and he walks to one of the low walls edging the aerie. He considers going for a flight for a brief moment, but recognizes it as a need to run, to do  _ something _ , and he refrains. Anyway, they don’t have the fuel to waste on him taking a joyride, not until their next supply drop comes in.

He leans his head forward, resting it on the wall. The stone is ice cold and bites into his skin. He shivers, letting the cold seep into his skin, into his bones. His hair whips around his face, and he feels as wild as the wind, though he doesn’t know why.

He hears quiet steps behind him. He refuses to straighten.

“You didn’t have to come out here,” Poe says, the words whipped up and away by the wind.

“I think I did,” Luke says. He stands next to Poe, and all Poe can see is the scuffed leather of Luke’s boots, his pants tucked neatly into the top of them.

“You going to talk to me?” Luke asks.

“No,” Poe says.

“Then I guess I’m going to talk to you,” Luke presses, leaning forward on the wall so that his elbow brushes against Poe’s. There’s a shock of heat when they touch, and Poe feels it down to his soul, a sudden gut-wrenching want that he’d thought he’d banished sometime between when they’d arrived on Dravione and now. Instead, it curls around him, burrowing beneath his skin until he feels it everywhere, crawling beneath the surface, setting his nerves on fire with Luke’s nearness.

“I know it’s frustrating,” Luke starts, and Poe snorts out a laugh, certain that the frustration that Luke is talking about isn’t the kind Poe is feeling.

“But we’re doing better than I have on other missions,” Luke continues, nudging Poe slightly. “Once we find a way to lock onto the transmission or triangulate it enough to find the direction we need to head, we’ll be lightyears ahead of where I thought we’d be by now. Recon is boring, even on the best of days. I get that. You just have to hold on a bit longer, find something to keep your mind off it all.”

_ No luck there _ , Poe thinks. He needs space, needs distance from Luke. The man is oblivious, and that is what’s really driving Poe insane; not the loneliness, not the emptiness of space or the nonproductive missions, but the line of Luke’s back as he bends down to tend the fire, the way that his eyes brighten when they catch the signal, the way his fingers rest around the edges of his blanket while he sleeps.

Poe stands up, then turns to face Luke, who pushes himself up, smiling softly.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says, reaching out to clap Poe on the shoulder.

That does it. Something about the friendly offer of comfort, the nearly platonic tone to Luke’s voice, breaks the fine grip of control Poe’s had on his emotions. He feels something snap, and he reaches up, grabs Luke around his forearm and pulls him closer. Poe wraps his other arm around Luke’s back, forcing their bodies together. He releases the hold on Luke’s forearm and wraps his hand around the back of Luke’s head. And for a second, he just holds Luke there, bodies pressed together from chest to hips, embracing. He’s staring into Luke’s eyes, and that’s when he catches it, the flash of want that Luke banks nearly as soon as it sparks. But it’s enough for Poe, who feels like he’s been starved for warmth since Ambaril.

“Tell me to stop,” he says quietly, letting his eyes drift to Luke’s lips, making his intent known. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

“Poe,” Luke says, breath catching. “You’re just looking for an outlet, a way to release your frustration. And you’re young, and I’m available. It’s just stress.”

“No,” Poe says, squeezing the back of Luke’s neck and giving him a little shake. “I want  _ you _ .”

Luke stops breathing, and Poe can feel it when the older man finally takes a shuddering breath, his body pressing closer on the inhale. Luke’s gaze drops to Poe’s lips, and Poe runs his tongue over his lower lip, watches as Luke follows the motion, eyes flaring.

“Tell me to stop,” Poe says, and it sounds like a plea, like a prayer, “or else I won’t.”

Luke doesn’t say anything.

\---

Luke can’t look away, can’t breathe, as Poe leans forward, bringing his mouth close enough to Luke’s that their lips nearly brush.

“Do you want this?” Poe asks, and Luke can feel the breath against his skin, can feel the words against his lips. He wants to lie, wants to deny it, but instead he nods, just one, quickly. Poe lets out a ragged breath, then leans forward, pressing their lips together.

It hits Luke like a punch in the gut. He shivers, then dives into the kiss, feeling the soft, careful rasp of Poe’s lips against his own. Slowly, Luke brings his hand up to the jut of Poe’s hip, his thumb resting on the ridge of bone he can feel beneath Poe’s skin. Poe pulls him closer, licking into Luke’s mouth with careful, studied ease. Luke feels like he’s being flayed alive, like all of his nerve endings have suddenly sparked to life. There’s a frantic rush to his blood, but Poe’s slow, gentle kisses keep it banked, waiting. Luke lets Poe lead, opens beneath his kiss, until their tongues are meeting, slow and gentle as they learn the feel of each other.

Poe groans again, pulling Luke tighter against his body. Poe’s hard, and Luke moans, pressing into it with a shudder, pulling Poe closer by his hip. The hand in Luke’s hair tightens, then pulls, hard, their lips coming apart on a gasp. Poe doesn’t slow, just lets his mouth wander down the trail of Luke’s neck, nipping gently at the hollow of Luke’s throat, the ridge of his collarbone where it peeks out from his jacket and shirt.

“Poe,” Luke moans, tilting his head back to give the younger man better access. He feels Poe smile against his skin, and then he’s pressing kisses into the hinge of Luke’s jaw, at the sensitive skin behind his ear. Poe takes Luke’s earlobe between his teeth, pulling gently, and Luke feels his knees go to water.

Poe catches him, laughing dark and low, then gentles him with a kiss, pulling Luke’s mouth to his own.

“Let’s go inside,” Poe says against Luke’s mouth, biting, teasing, like fire.

Luke nearly agrees, nearly gives into the ache in his bones. He wants to. He’s never wanted something so much in his life. Rough hands and dark eyes, lips that know too well where to press searing kisses.  _ It’d be good _ , he thinks, letting himself sink into another drugging kiss.  _ It’d be so good. _

That’s what pulls him back, the desperation in his own internal voice. He breaks their kiss, pulls away, takes a step back. Poe’s hand clenches in Luke’s hair, the pain bringing another rush of hunger with it, but Poe slowly loosens his grip, steps away.

“I can’t,” Luke says, his voice rough and broken. “You don’t understand.”

“No,” Poe says, and something twists in Luke’s gut. “No, I don’t.”

Poe takes a step back, then turns, cursing.

“Poe,” Luke says, nearly yells.

“Stop,” Poe says, his back still turned. “Just stop. Either you want me or you don’t. I can’t… Just  _ tell _ me.”

Luke traces the edge of Poe’s body, memorizes the shape of his silhouette against the night sky. He flicks his tongue out over his lips, trying to catch another taste, an already fleeting memory.

“I can’t want you,” Luke says, though he knows it’s no answer.

“But you do,” Poe says, glancing over his shoulder at Luke.

“I do,” he answers. Luke hates the sadness in his voice, the resignation. Poe runs his hand over his face, then starts laughing.

“This is fucked up,” he says, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” Luke says, fighting a smile. Poe turns and faces him, mouth still crooked into a smile, though it disappears as Poe’s eyes run hungrily over Luke’s body.

“I don’t think I’m going to stop,” Poe says, voice quiet. “Wanting you, I mean.”

“I know. I’ve tried.”

“Me too,” and there’s that smile again, the gentle uptick to one side of Poe’s mouth.

“But we can’t let anything happen,” Luke continues. “Not now, not while I’m your commanding officer.”

Poe pauses, looking at Luke with a calm expression.

“But after,” Poe says, asks.

“After,” Luke says, taking a step forward. They’re close enough that Luke could take Poe’s hand if he wanted, and god, does he want to. Instead, he meets Poe’s gaze, then lets his eyes settle on Poe’s lips.

“After is something else entirely.”

Poe shivers or shudders, Luke can’t tell. He desperately wants to take that final step, to bring their bodies into contact again. Instead, he stands still, waiting.

Poe nods, just once, then turns back towards their camp, leaving Luke alone in the night with his promise.


	4. Chapter 4

After that evening, there’s a new urgency to the search. Poe tackles the challenge head on, determined and calculating. Missions are run with a strict adherence to protocol, Poe following procedure to a T. When they land in the evening, that veneer of professionality starts to crack. Poe can feel Luke watching him as he moves around camp. They keep a studied distance from each other, but Poe swears that Luke’s eyes on him are a physical weight against his skin, each glance making his heart pound. They make a silent agreement to go to bed at different times, trying to limit their interactions where they no longer have excuses to keep their distance. Poe walks into the tent one night before Luke has finished getting into his cot, his body bare and gleaming in the lamplight, and Poe has to turn around and go outside, the cold whipping wind doing little to cool his blood.

After a few more days of fruitless searching, they finally manage to find a third point to triangulate the signal, and they start creeping closer and closer to the Spiral. The signal is definitely coming from it, disguised and disrupted by the primordial gases that makes up most of the Spiral’s massive breadth. 

For the first few days after they pinpoint the signal’s direction, Luke and Poe make short forays into the edges of the Spiral. It’s some of the hardest flying that Poe’s ever done in his life. At first, the motions of the gas and debris seem random, unpredictable. He’s constantly dodging obstacles, his vision clouded by gas and a fine dust that works its way into all of the cracks of his X-wing, clogging the engines by the end of the day. It takes hours to clean it all out, and he’s forced to do it every day or risk ruining his fighter.

But after spending days in the Spiral, Poe starts to feel a rhythm to the place. There are currents in it, whirlpools and eddies that he slowly learns to read. After a week, he’s navigating it more smoothly, though he never lets his guard down when he’s within the Spiral’s boundaries.

Luke, on the other hand, seems to take to the Spiral like a Gungan to water. He has an unnatural sense of it, weaving in and out of the debris with apparent ease. There’s a close call with an asteroid that comes out of nowhere, zipping out from the center of the Spiral, but Luke manages to veer off at the last second, cutting his thrusters on one side of his X-wing, the other half flaring to full power, spinning his ship in a tight circle that let’s the asteroid fly past. Poe watches, mouth gaping, as Luke recovers just as easily, then continues his patrol.

“Blue Leader,” Poe says, laughing. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were insane.”

“Maybe you don’t know better,” Luke says, laughing over the comms.

They finally exhaust the extent of their range, unable to reach the origin of the signal within a day’s flight from Dravione. It’s the sign that they’ve been dreading. Luke and Poe spend a quiet night together, simply enjoying each other’s presence, then start gathering their gear, packing it all into the X-wings before turning in for the night. The next morning, they tear down the tent, and Poe takes one last glance around the aerie, feeling over the intricate carvings before heading out to their makeshift landing pad. Luke is loading the last of his gear, and he catches Poe’s eyes. He gives a little smile, then walks over, his holopad in his hand.

“We’re shooting for this planet,” he says, standing closer to Poe than he has since their kiss. Poe finds it hard to focus, and forces himself to pay attention to the holopad instead of Luke’s hands.

“This is Abraxin,” Luke continues, pointing to a planet in the center of the spiral. “It’s in the right direction for the most part, and we’ll be able to camp there. It’s not going to be pretty though,” he adds, frowning. “It’s a swamp planet, and not a particularly nice one.”

“Is it inhabited?” Poe asks, reaching over to tap on the planet, which increases in size, rotating slowly.

“Not much these days,” Luke says. “But there are rumors of marsh haunts, so you’ll want to keep your guard up.”

“Great,” Poe murmurs. “You always take me to the nicest places.”

“Next time, we’ll go to Alderaan,” Luke says, looking up at Poe with a slight blush before glancing down at the holopad. “I’ll give you a tour of the mountain reaches. We have a cabin up there, so high all you can see are clouds and open sky.” He pauses, still looking down. “It’s one of my favorite places back home.”

“Luke,” Poe says, voice quiet and wanting.

“I know,” he says, shutting down the holopad. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Their flight path takes them along the Spiral for most of the journey. The signal grows in strength, crackling in and out throughout the flight. Poe’s R2 unit dutifully records it, outputting what it catches onto the main console. Poe glances down every once and awhile to catch up on the log, but it’s more of the same, mundane transmissions they’ve captured so far. At the end of their flight, they turn into the Spiral, navigating around the unfamiliar, dangerous space slowly but steadily. 

Abraxin rises out of the galactic fog, dark green and cloudy. They sweep into the atmosphere, their X-wings kicking up thick lines of contrail in the moisture-rich air. Like Luke had warned, the planet is thick with swamp. It takes them hours to find a large enough patch of nearly dry land to fit both of their X-wings, and even then, it’s an extremely tight fit.

They won’t be staying here long, and Poe’s grateful that the planet’s location precludes them from receiving supplies. They’ll be here for a few days, maybe a week, and then they’ll have to head back out of the Spiral, back to Dravione or another nearby planet to refuel and restock. He opens his cockpit, then groans in dismay.

The smell hits him immediately, shocking in its earthy, decaying stench. It’s a mix of wet mud, rotting flesh, and spoiled vegetation. The air is wet and heavy, and the smell seems to sink into his skin. It invades his senses, and he coughs out a breath.

“That’s awful,” he says, climbing out of his fighter. Luke has a hand pressed to his nose and nods.

“Let’s hope we get used to it.”

“Let’s hope we can scrub it out when we get home. The ships are going to stink for weeks after this.”

“Probably,” Luke sighs, moving his hand away and wrinkling his nose. “Let’s get the tent set up.”

There’s barely enough space for it to fit between the fighters, and they’re forced to raise it underneath the S-foils, the top of the tent nearly touching the flight surface. Poe shucks off his shoes before entering the tent, thankful that the internal filters have cut the smell, at least a little. Luke follows closely behind, bare feet sticking to the floor of the tent.

“I sincerely hope we find whatever it is they’re hiding soon,” he says, shaking his head as he seals the tent shut. “I don’t want to spend any more time on this planet than we have to.”

“Nothing else motivating you, Captain?” Poe asks, unable to pass up the opportunity to tease. Luke glances at him, then gives him a casual once over. Poe feels lust roll through him and settle low in his stomach, feels his body give an appreciative twitch, and then Luke’s grinning and sitting down on his cot, the moment past.

“The signal is definitely stronger out here,” Luke says, leaning back to rest against the wall of the tent. “And the transmissions are much clearer.”

“Whatever it is we’re looking for, it’s big,” Poe adds. “There’s a flight deck, mess, plenty of different people on the comms. If I had to guess, they’re building some kind of cruiser or star destroyer. But that doesn’t explain why they’re building it out here. The Empire has plenty of resources in the Imperial Core, plenty of places where they’re building ships that aren’t nearly as remote.”

“It’s going to be something new, something experimental,” Luke says, nodding. “They have to keep it hidden, which means it’s not going to be one of their standard ships.”

“How are we going to go about destroying it?” Poe asks, frowning.

“We may not have that option. This is a recon mission. Whatever we find, we’ll need to bring it back to the Alliance before we even try to engage. Likely, Leia will send an attack against it while we’re somewhere else, getting ready for our next mission.”

“Assuming the Alliance Fleet is even able to make it out here,” Poe adds. “We had a hell of a time getting through, and we’re just two fighters. No way they’d be able to get  _ Home One _ or any of the other cruisers through this place.”

“It’ll have to be strike forces, supported outside of the Spiral by the larger ships.”

Poe can tell that Luke’s already considering strategies, planning out the battle in his mind. Poe rolls his eyes, then lays back on the cot.

“You think we should split up? Make separate runs, cover more ground?”

There’s a pause, Luke considering.

“It’s an idea,” he says, “but I don’t like it. The flying conditions are dangerous enough out here. As long as the enemy doesn’t know we’re here, we’ll stick together.”

“Okay,” Poe says. “When do you want to make our first run? Tonight?”

He turns his head to the side, watching Luke as he considers, then shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “Let’s try to get some rest, and then we’ll head out. I’m exhausted after that flight and could use the breather.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Poe says, yawning slightly. He sits up and pulls his shirt off over his head, not pausing to think about Luke still in the tent. Poe hears Luke inhale with a gasp, then exhale slowly.

He meets Luke’s eyes, which are suddenly hooded, dark. Poe raises an eyebrow, hands moving to the fastenings on his pants.

“Tease,” Luke says, the word fond and wanting. Poe laughs, then waits for Luke to turn away. When the older man doesn’t, just settles deeper into his cot, Poe unfastens his pants, peeling them from his legs slowly, watching as Luke’s eyes follow the fabric as it crumples to the floor.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Luke sighs, shaking his head.

Poe laughs, chest tight and heart racing. He wants to cross the distance between their beds, crawl up into the space between Luke’s legs, and show Luke that he’s just as desperate, just as aching.

“Trust me, it’ll be mutual,” he says instead, slipping beneath his blanket. Luke gives him one more long glance, then sighs, and lays down on his cot, fully dressed.

“You’re not going to get more comfortable?” Poe asks, not even trying to hide the teasing tone from his voice or the low-banked fire in his gaze.

“No,” Luke says, rolling so that his back is to Poe.

“Good night, Captain,” Poe chirps, closing his eyes with a grin.

“Shut up, Dameron,” Luke replies, and it startles a laugh out of Poe. Still grinning, he drifts off, listening to the sounds of the swamp around them, hearing the quiet chatter of the astromech droids as they converse in binary about the transmissions.

\---

The first two days are more of the same, only now, instead of failing to find the transmission, Luke and Poe struggle to determine where it isn’t. Nearly every inch of the sky that they cover receives some kind of message from the hidden Imperial ship, and with that much traffic, they can’t tell where it’s coming from. All they can do is keep to the heading they’d found on Dravione and hope. At the end of the third day, they strike the jackpot.

Luke nearly misses it, thinking that it’s just another planetoid on the horizon, one of the many they’ve found in the depths of the Spiral. But there’s a glint of something that catches his eye, and he slows, watches.

That’s when he sees it again; a flash of white, disappearing into the darkness of space. A ship, making the jump to lightspeed.

“Blue 2,” Luke says, nearly whispering. “You might want to turn on those jammers.”

“What?” Poe says, flying in close to Luke and coasting. “I mean, roger. Turning on jammers.”

They wait a second while they spark to life, then Poe hails him again.

“What do you see?”

“Right quadrant, straight ahead. Just watch.”

There’s another long moment, the sky black, and then there’s the burst of the light. Another ship.

“Shit,” Poe whispers. “Shit, we found them.”

“Yeah,” Luke says, throttling up the engines. “Stay sharp.”

They fly in closer, the planetoid rotating slowly. There are huge pieces missing, the lower half broken into crevices and ravines that scar the surface of the planet.

“Luke,” Poe says, dropping their call signs, “I don’t think that’s a planet.”

Luke, confused, squints, then runs a scan of the planetoid. The readout comes back with a basic report detailing the composition, size, and atmosphere. Poe’s right, whatever it is, it’s not anything naturally occurring. The entire thing is made of metal and plastic, mixed with rocket fuel.

It’s a starship. A battle station.

“No wonder they’re building it out here,” Poe says, stunned. “There’s nowhere else they’d be able to hide it.”

The starship is massive, a half-completed sphere that easily dwarfs their fighters. There’s a huge crater in the top half of it, but otherwise the finished surface looks smooth from here. Luke finally catches sight of the main hangar bay, TIE fighters zipping in and out like ants in a colony.

“We’re going to have to get closer,” Luke says. “We need to get a full readout on that thing, or as close to a full report as we can. Jammers still running?”

“Yes, sir,” Poe says. “Ready on your go.”

Luke takes a deep breath.

“Go,” he says on the exhale, zipping forward through the debris caught in the massive starship’s gravity. They stay close, using the asteroids as cover, constantly checking for TIE fighters on the horizon. Their X-wings are pale, obvious against the blackness of space, and Luke hopes that no one notices the two pieces of debris moving too fast, too coordinated, to just be part of the space junk floating around.

They’re able to pull around the more finished side of the starship, and Luke dives towards its surface. If there’s anyone watching, they don’t see Poe and Luke as they zip in close. This near to the ship, the surface is covered in channels and trenches, broken up into clear sections. Luke counts three large gun batteries, all unmanned, on their first sweep. On the second, he counts another four.

He and Poe stay off the radios. Even with their jammers going, Luke is too scared of being overheard to risk the comms. Instead, he uses his X-wing to signal to Poe, rocking his wings as he gets ready to pull away. He sees Poe echo the motion behind him, and they lift from the surface, screaming back into the writhing depths of the Spiral.

They’re nearly away, the starship fading into the distance behind them, when Luke catches a flash of shining black behind them.

“We’ve got company,” he sends to Poe. “I’m going to try to draw him off. Get ready to follow behind.”

Luke opens his S-foils, then locks them into attack position.

“Alright, R4, let’s do this,” he tells the astromech droid. “Keep a close eye out for anything coming towards us that isn’t the fighter. I won’t be able to pay attention to debris while I’m flying.”

The droid beeps affirmatively, and Luke feels it route something differently, the engines suddenly throwing the fighter forward with extra force. He whoops a little, then starts baiting the TIE fighter, slowing down to draw it in. The TIE fighter quickly catches up, its superior engines making up the distance that Luke had started with. Poe is nowhere to be seen, which gives Luke a small jolt of relief and fright.

They’re thoroughly enmeshed in the Spiral, the starship invisible in the fog. Luke hopes his jammers are doing their job, stopping the TIE fighter from relaying what he’d found back to his base. He hits the thrusters, shooting forward, and the TIE shrieks after. The debris is thick in this part of the Spiral, and he dives around it, narrowly missing an asteroid. He looks behind, trying to see if the TIE was as lucky, and curses when it comes flying past the asteroid, still hot on his tail.

_ C’mon, Poe _ , Luke thinks, checking for the other pilot desperately.  _ Any time now _ .

The TIE fighter lets loose a quick volley of shots, and R4 shrieks warnings. Nothing’s hit, but it was a near miss. Luke curses again, desperately searching for somewhere to hide in the swirling eddies of gas around him.

He veers hard to the left, curving around a larger asteroid, the TIE fighter lazily following. Its pilot knows that Luke has nowhere to run, and it shows in the cat-and-mouse game they start playing, Luke ducking behind asteroids only to be found seconds later by the TIE.

He makes another maneuver, and that’s when he sees Poe, his fighter streaming towards him at full speed, straight for Luke and the TIE. Luke wants to call out, wants to yell at Poe for the reckless move, but instead, he veers more sharply, getting out of the way just as Poe lets loose his proton torpedoes, followed by a rapid grouping of shots from his cannons. There’s a bright flash behind Luke, and when he checks behind him, he sees the TIE crashing into an asteroid, pieces of black plastic and metal glancing off and scattering into space.

Poe’s voice comes clattering over the comms.

“Nice flying, Captain,” he says. Luke can hear the grin in Poe’s voice, and he sighs, shaking his head.

“Are you just going to entirely stop using call signs?”

“I mean, it’s just the two of us. What’s the point?”

“Anonymity?” Luke asks, watching as Poe glides his fighter into formation behind Luke.

“The only guy who knew we were out here just got turned to dust,” Poe says. “I think we’re anonymous enough.”

“Sergeant,” Luke says, slightly scolding. “Assuming our jammers are working, and that we aren’t experiencing the same kind of transmission anomalies the Empire has been, and that the pilot of that fighter didn’t get a message off before he crashed, we still need to be proactive about our security. Call signs only.”

Poe sighs.

“Fine,  _ Blue Leader _ . Let’s get out of here?”

“Roger, Blue 2,” Luke says, smiling a little. “Let’s go home.”

\---

They land on Abraxin, the stench somehow improved with the knowledge that they won’t be there much longer. Luke starts checking over his X-wing for any damage from the fight with the TIE fighter. Poe hooks his holopad up to his X-wing, watching as the pad downloads the readings and recordings the X-wing had taken while they were flying. It’ll be important data for their analysts to have. He notes Luke unplugging his pad, having just finished a similar download.

“You want to try and head back to  _ Home One _ tonight, or stay here another night?” Luke asks, nodding towards the tent.

“Let’s lay low,” Poe says. “If that TIE fighter did manage to alert his base about us, I’d want to give any kind of search party time to not find us and give up. No one’s going to land here.”

“No,” Luke says, looking around their campsite. “You’d have to be insane to want to stay here.”

Poe laughs, then closes up his fighter for the night. He kicks his shoes off and walks into the tent, then lays down on his cot, holopad held over his head. Luke follows a few minutes later, then looks at the display, a rotating image of the starship filling the screen.

“How long do you think they’ve been working on it?” Poe asks, looking over at Luke.

“Years,” Luke says, shaking his head. “Maybe even decades. Something that big, it’s a long-term project.”

“We’re going to have to hit it hard,” Poe continues. “I was looking over the general schematics that we got from our scans, and with how large of an engine they’d need to power that thing, there has to be some significant venting throughout. If we can find a way through one of those vents, or if we could get an explosive payload down one of them, we might be able to hit the engine and blow it up from the inside out.”

“That’s some quick thinking, Dameron,” Luke says, grinning. “I always thought you were too smart for your own good.”

“Guilty as charged,” Poe says, setting the holopad down on his stomach. “I’ve been known to get into a scrape or two because of it.”

“I’m not surprised,” Luke says, rolling his eyes.

“You want to hear about how I nearly burnt down my house as a kid?”

“You did what now?” Luke asks. Poe laughs at his expression, his eyes wide, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah. There’s this tree in the yard where I grew up. My mom, she planted it when she was a kid. She ended up inheriting the place when my grandparents died, so by the time she and my dad moved in, it was pretty big. Anyway, I was maybe ten or eleven, just learning how to fly my mom’s A-wing. I was sitting in the cockpit, going through the startup routines, when I noticed that there was this switch that wasn’t labeled.”

Luke groans. “You didn’t.”

“I did. Flipped it immediately. Turns out, my mom had modified the ship to add an extra afterburner, and let me tell you, it worked. The engine kicked on, the ship went rocketing forward — me completely unprepared for it — and it caught that damn tree in the wake. All of the leaves went up in this giant cloud of smoke. Thankfully, it didn’t catch the trunk or branches, I still don’t know how. My folks came running out to find me stuck in some hedges, the nose of the A-wing buried three feet deep in the ground, and the tree smoking.”

“What’d they do?” Luke asks, laughing.

“Well, my mom banned me from her A-wing for six months, not unless she was there, too. And I had to take care of the tree. I spent the next couple of months tending it, cleaning up the mess I’d made, and then it just turned into a thing. It was one of my regular chores as a kid, making sure that tree was okay. It ended up being kind of a place to hide out, once I hit my angsty teenage years.”

“Were you an angsty teenager, Poe Dameron?” Luke asks, sitting down on his cot, smiling softly.

“I thought myself a tragic hero,” he says, shaking his head. “Mom gone, dad as close to it as you can be while you’re still breathing. And little ol’ me, yearning to fly away from everything I’d ever known and into adventure.”

“I bet you didn’t expect to end up here,” Luke says.

“No, these kind of surroundings didn’t exactly play into my fantasies of daring-do.”

Luke laughs.

“There’s still plenty of time for adventure,” Luke says, leaning forward. He looks at Poe for a long moment, the laughter fading from his eyes to be replaced by something softer, more serious.

“If you could go anywhere, anywhere in the entire galaxy, where would you go?”

Poe pauses, considers. He’s never thought of it, not really. He knows he can fly anywhere he wants. He’s got the ship, he’s got the skills. He’s just never thought of his life after the Alliance, after the war.

“I’d like to go to Alderaan,” he says. “See that cabin of yours.”

Luke flushes, but nods.

“And maybe the Core planets or the Inner Rim. I’ve always lived in the Outer Reaches.”

“So, the entire universe,” Luke says, laughing. “If you could go anywhere, you’d go everywhere.”

Poe nods, grinning. “Basically.”

“And what would you do there? When you got to the Core.”

“I don’t know,” he says, unsure. “What would you do?”

“Whatever you’d want, I guess,” Luke says, hedging. Poe grins.

“So we’d be on this adventure together.”

Luke looks slightly embarrassed, and Poe decides to put him out of his misery, instead of teasing.

“I can’t think of someone else I’d rather see the edges of the universe with,” he answers, his voice soft and serious. He sits up, swinging his legs over the side of his cot so that his knees touch Luke’s.

“We’re almost done,” Luke says, knocking his knee against Poe’s, “and then this won’t be so hard.”

“Poor choice of words,” Poe says, trying to break the tension. 

“A few more weeks, at most,” Luke says, looking through lowered lashes to meet Poe’s eyes. “And then we’ll see about that.”

Poe wants. It rushes over him in a wave, overwhelming. He wants Luke’s laughter. Wants his hands and lips and bright, shining eyes. He wants Luke’s body over his, under his. He wants to know the taste of sweat on Luke’s skin, wants to know what he looks like when he’s coming undone. Wants to see Luke as he wakes up, as he falls asleep. Wants to know how he’ll look in ten, twenty years. He wants it all. It floods him, consumes him. He takes a shaky breath and leans away, trying to gain his equilibrium back.

“A few more weeks,” he says, heart racing.

“We should get some sleep,” Luke says, smiling. “Long day tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Poe says, standing to turn down the lamp. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Luke says.

Poe lays in the dark, restless for a long time. He listens to Luke’s breathing, can tell when he finally falls asleep. Poe feels like something has shifted inside of himself, and he struggles with the sensation, fighting to find a quiet place. Luke’s soft breathing slowly soothes him, and he focuses on the sound until he finally, gratefully, drifts to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close to the end! Thank you to everyone who's taken the time to comment, kudos, and bookmark the fic. You guys make me feel a lot better about loving this pairing. <3
> 
> Also big thanks to nerdywithatwist, virtualdon, and leupagus for putting up with me. You guys rock.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Luke wakes up while Poe is still sleeping. Luke takes a long moment to indulge himself, cataloging the planes of Poe’s face, the gentle curl of hair that constantly slides down over his forehead, the dark circles under his eyes. Luke sighs, then gets up, moving about the tent quietly. Poe stirs a little, but settles back into sleep, blanket pulled up tight under his chin. Luke smiles fondly at the younger man, then lets himself out of the tent.

It’s vital that they get back to Leia and  _ Home One _ , and Luke’s itching to get behind the controls of his fighter. With what they’ve learned about the starship, limited though it may be, the Alliance should be able to put together a strong enough force to take it down. Poe’s idea about the explosive payload is a good one, though further analysis is going to be necessary before any attacks can be launched. Luke’s ready to get back, get planning, and take whatever that thing is out.

But another part of him isn’t quite ready to give up the isolation and closeness that he and Poe have shared over the last two months. Another part of him is desperate for it to be over. Once Poe is assigned to another unit, there won’t be any reason for them to resist the sexual pull that exists between them. It’s been a pleasant torture, but one that Luke is ready to have end. He wants to see where this goes, see if there’s a future for them somewhere in the galaxy. It sends a shiver up his spine, and he grins, wondering how much Poe will enjoy the cabin on Alderaan, how much he’ll like the Inner Rim once they’re able to safely travel there.

No, he’s looking forward to going home as much for the personal reasons as the professional.

His droid loaded into his fighter and light starting to slowly seep through the thick canopy of foliage that covers the planet, Luke heads back to the tent to wake Poe up. Luke opens the door to the tent, and Poe mumbles something, rolling to his back, his hand rising to rub at his eyes.

“Time to go?” He asks, voice thick with sleep.

“Yeah,” Luke says, and he sits down on Poe’s cot. The bed shifts slightly, and Poe’s body comes to rest against the long line of Luke’s thigh. Poe looks at him through half-lidded eyes, mouth quirked in a soft smile, and Luke bends down to slowly kiss it from Poe’s mouth. Poe gasps, and Luke pulls away as Poe reaches to pull him closer, his fingers tangling in Luke’s hair.

“Where are you going?” Poe asks. His voice is rough, his touch gentle in Luke’s hair, and Luke smiles, brushing his lips against Poe’s once more before pulling away, Poe’s hand falling in a slow caress against Luke’s neck and chest.

“C’mon,” Luke says, standing. “Let’s get going.”

Poe nods, then sits up and stretches. He swings his leg from the cot, then shoos Luke from the tent.

“I need a minute,” he says, blushing slightly. “I’ll be right out.”

Luke walks outside and watches the swamp, listening as Poe moves around inside. After a moment, Luke hears the door open, and he turns to see Poe, dressed and ready to go. They take down the tent, then pack it away in Luke’s fighter. Poe gets his astromech droid loaded into his fighter, and then they’re lifting from their campsite for the final time. Poe falls into formation behind Luke, and they burst through heavy clouds, thick with an impending rainstorm, into the clear skies of the upper atmo.

They’re nearing the edge of the atmosphere when Luke’s droid starts beeping a warning. Looking down at his radar, Luke sees six bogeys, heading straight for him and Poe.

“Blue 2, we’ve got company coming in fast.”

“Roger,” Poe says, voice serious. “Looks like TIE fighters, Blue Leader.”

“They’re going to catch up to us before we’ll be able to make the jump to lightspeed,” Luke says, watching as the six dots on his radar grow ever closer. “We’re going to have to engage. Lock S-foils and get ready.”

“Roger. Blue 2 ready.”

“Follow my lead,” Luke says. “They’ve got us in speed and numbers, so our only option is to out-fly them.”

“I’m with you, Blue Leader,” Poe says, and Luke can hear the implication in the statement. It hits him in the chest, a slight pang that makes his breath catch.

“Roger, Blue 2,” Luke says, and he wonders if his voice sounds weird to Poe, or if the tightness, the slight roughness, is just in his own ears. “Get ready.”

Luke waits until he can see the TIEs in his rear monitors. Luke weaves back and forth slightly, giving up speed to avoid leaving himself a sitting duck. After a brief moment, the TIEs open fire, red lasers flashing across his field of vision and over his wings. He waits, then brakes hard, the X-wing stalling and falling back. The TIEs shriek past him and Poe, who’s also braked his fighter. Gravity pushes Luke deep into his seat, the seat clacking against the chair rails, and he strains to keep conscious as the ground rushes closer. His vision blurring, everything turning grey around the edges, Luke hits the power, lifting fast into the sky. Everything blacks out for a second, and then he’s catching up to the TIEs, who have turned to find him and Poe. Luke releases a quick volley of shots, catching one of the TIE fighters on the joint between its left wing and the main body of the ship. It shoots sparks, then the wing falls away, the rest of the TIE fighter twisting into an erratic loop before crashing into the trees below.

“One down,” Poe says. “Five to go.”

The TIEs have caught on, though, and are pulling around in formation, the five remaining fighters quickly breaking into two teams. The team of two takes off after Poe, who has to break formation and bank hard to the right to avoid getting hit. The remaining three bear down on Luke.

Luke’s faced TIEs before, but never this outnumbered. They’re wicked fast, and the pilots of this squadron are talented. They catch up to Luke, then two of the three TIEs pull up next to him, hindering his ability to maneuver to the side. As soon as Luke tries to make a dive, they cut him off. He fights at the controls, brow sweaty, looking for any kind of an out. He finds one while the TIEs regroup, and he brakes the X-wing, then banks hard to the side, managing to pull out of the center of the TIEs.

“R4,” he says, banking towards the ground. “I’m gonna need some help here. Get the torpedos ready, and fire as soon as you have a chance.”

His droid beeps back affirmatively, and Luke curses as one of the TIE fighters fires another round of shots at him. There’s an explosion, and when he looks to the right, he can see that his top S-foil has been severely damaged. Smoke is pouring from the engine, and he can see sparks shooting out whenever he tries to move the control surface.

“Report, R4,” he says, struggling to keep the fighter aloft. Looking at the readout, it’s not  good. He’s losing control fluid quickly, the engines are quickly overheating, and there’s no way he’s going to be able to keep up this pace without — 

There’s another volley, and then his top right engine bursts into flame, blinding him. He tries to blink it away, but then he’s crashing into the trees of Abraxin, and everything goes black.

\---

Poe sees Luke’s fighter crash, and he curses loudly. 

“Blue Leader, Blue Leader,” Poe calls, checking behind him for the remaining TIEs.

“Blue Leader, come in. This is Blue 2.”

There’s no response, only the quiet crackle of static. Poe curses again, then feels something snap. This isn’t how this is going to end. Not like this.

He turns his fighter on the TIEs, firing rapid volleys of shots that catch them off-guard. He sends one craft screaming towards the ground, then buzzes close enough to the second TIE that he can see the pilot, who looks at him, surprise clear even through his opaque helmet. Poe’s R2 unit quickly launches a torpedo, and that fighter goes crashing to the ground, too.

The rest of the wing, the three TIE fighters that were chasing after Luke, seem to have disappeared, and Poe struggles for a second with the urge to find them or to find Luke. By the next, he’s made his decision, his fighter streaming towards the gaping hole where Luke’s fighter had disappeared into the thick cover of Abraxin’s perpetual swamp.

He follows the damage, then finds the wreckage. The X-wing is smoking, the right side crippled. Poe can’t see anything moving around the fighter, and he desperately searches for a landing spot. His chest is tight, his hands sweating, and he can’t stop thinking about what he’s going to find. Crashing an X-wing is never good, and the trail of smoke leading up from the crash site means that there’s a chance the engines could either be on fire or close to lighting up. It takes a long time, or maybe it’s just a few minutes, he’s too keyed up to tell, but he’s lucky, and finds something just large enough for him to land. He clambers out of the fighter, heading towards Luke, running into the swamp separating them.

The ground squelches around his legs, and he has to fight for every step. The mud pulls him down, slows him, but he keeps moving, keeps struggling forward. He finally reaches the ship, which is already sinking into the ground, and climbs up the left S-foils, arms shaking. The cockpit is still closed, and he has to force it open, the metal cutting through his flight gloves and into his fingers when he pulls the emergency release.

Poe finally sees Luke, and his heart stops. It’s not good. The entire right side of the cockpit is a mangled mess of metal and wire, some of it still sparking. The glass display screens are broken, and Poe can see jagged shards of it covering the floor and part of Luke’s body. 

Luke’s unconscious, head rolling to the left. Poe carefully removes Luke’s flight helmet, the visor shattered in a crazed mess, setting it down on the S-foil. There’s a deep cut above Luke’s right eye that’s dripping blood down the side of his face. Poe follows the red trail in half-numb fascination, then finally notices the damage to Luke’s right side. His arm is mangled, a huge piece of glass sticking through the torn material of Luke’s jacket, blood staining the material dark red. Luke’s hand is even worse, a tangled mess of muscle and sinew and bone that has Poe’s gut clenching in protest.

“Luke,” Poe says, wrapping his fingers around Luke’s damaged wrist, trying to stem the flow of blood that is pumping out of Luke’s hand. “You’ve got to wake up, buddy. We’ve got to get you out of here.”

Luke moans softly, and Poe turns, hoping. Slowly, Luke blinks and then meets Poe’s eyes. His gaze is unfocused, and he looks up at Poe blearily.

“Poe?” He asks, reaching for Poe with his left hand. “Wha happn’d?”

“They got you this time,” Poe says, shaking his head, trying to still the shaking in his hands. “But I’m here. We’ve got to get you to my fighter, and then we’ve got to get out of here.”

“It hurts,” Luke says, closing his eyes, grimacing. “Just want to sleep.”

“No, no, no,” Poe says, his grip tightening unconsciously. Luke winces, but he opens his eyes again. He glares at Poe like a petulant child, and Poe wants to laugh, though he can’t explain why.

“It’s not time to sleep, Captain,” Poe says, reaching into the cockpit to release the buckles. He slides his arm under Luke’s left armpit, then gets ready to pull. “Help me get you out of here, if you can.”

Luke nods, then his eyes slide close again.

“Stay with me, Luke,” Poe says, hoisting the older man up as much as he can. It’s an awkward angle, and Poe has to stop, his grip on Luke’s injured right hand stopping him from being able to safely remove Luke from the fighter. They’re still sinking, the right side digging deeper and deeper into the thick mud. The ground lets up a quiet groan, and the entire ship sinks another three inches in a gut-clenching rush. Poe catches his breath, then lets go of Luke’s hand long enough to tear a long strip of fabric from Luke’s jacket.

“Hey,” Luke mumbles, eyes still closed. “I liked that jacket.”

“It wasn’t making it back anyway,” Poe says, tying the strip tightly around Luke’s arm. Luke winces again, but the blood flow from his damaged hand slows, and Poe feels the first hint of hope he’s had since finding Luke alive. He gets both arms around Luke and pulls him from the cockpit with a grunt. Luke screams, then passes out again.

Poe pulls Luke onto the S-foil and sees that the damage to Luke’s body continues down his side and leg. His pants are burnt, and Poe can see skin, red and blistered, through the holes. There’s a terrifyingly large pool of blood in the bottom of the cockpit, but Poe can’t tell if it’s deep enough to be concerning or if it’s just spread as the fighter has sunk. 

It’s about fifty yards between Luke’s fighter and Poe’s, not an impossible distance, but with how hard it was to get to Luke’s fighter before, it’s going to be exhausting. Still, there’s no way Poe’s leaving Luke here, not while he’s still breathing. He muscles Luke over his shoulders, then slides from the S-foil, which has sunk deep enough that it’s only a couple feet to the ground. The mud immediately sucks him in deep, wrapping around his legs in a vice grip. Poe grits his teeth, tries to ignore the warmth of Luke’s blood seeping down his back, and takes a step.

The mud refuses to give at first, then releases his leg with a loud sucking noise, water rushing in to fill the hole that his foot has left. Poe nearly stumbles, Luke’s weight setting him off-balance, but keeps his feet. He takes another step, then another, struggling forward, breath panting from him. He sinks deeper with each step, and by the time he’s at his fighter, he’s covered in mud up to his chest, Luke’s feet dragging in the water pooled around Poe’s body.

He struggles up onto the solid ground his fighter is on, then lays Luke down gently. Poe takes frantic breaths, fighting for air, then kneels down next to Luke. He’s still unconscious, and Poe quickly checks his injuries. Luke’s not bleeding as much, but he’s pale and a little cold. Poe shakes him gently, but Luke doesn’t respond.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, trying again. Luke stirs a little, but doesn’t come all the way to. Poe frowns, then eyes his fighter.

“I’ve got to get you out of here,” he says, more to himself than to Luke. Poe sighs again, then hoists Luke across his shoulders with a tired groan. He walks carefully towards the fighter, then lifts, trying to get Luke onto the wing. His arms give out about half-way up, and he grunts as they crumple. Luke falls back over his shoulders in a rush, and Poe nearly drops him with the suddenness of it. Poe takes another breath, cursing with each gasp, gathers himself, and then deadlifts Luke. He screams as he pushes, the sound deep and mournful, and he manages to get most of Luke’s left side onto the S-foil. The weight reduced, Poe’s able to take a quick breather, supporting the rest of Luke’s body with his trembling arms, before he pushes Luke the rest of the way up.

He takes a moment to catch his breath, then hoists himself onto the wing next to Luke. He’s still unconscious, skin just a hint too pale, and Poe feels a desperate coil of fear work its way deep into his stomach. His hands start to shake, and he reaches for Luke, searching for any kind of solidity.

“You’ve got to wake up,” Poe says, voice shaking as much as his hands. “C’mon, Luke. You’ve got to wake up.”

Luke moans softly, turning towards Poe’s voice. Poe wants to grab him, pull him close, but he holds himself back, waits. Luke blinks up at him, eyes tight in pain.

“What’s happening?”

_ Not good _ , Poe thinks, the cold coil of fear in his gut tightening.

“We’re getting out of here,” Poe says, nodding towards the cockpit. “It’s going to be a tight fit.”

“It’s ‘kay,” Luke murmurs, head drifting to the side. “Like your fit.”

“You’re terrible,” Poe says, laughing as he tries not to cry. “C’mon, Captain. If I don’t get you back, the General will have my hide.”

“Can’t,” Luke says, voice still slurred and quiet. “Not hers.”

“Yes, sir,” Poe says, opening up the cockpit. “Just stay with me, okay?”

Poe slides Luke as close to the cockpit as he can, then climbs into the single seat. He balls up his jacket and sets it between the cockpit and the S-foil. He gets the buckles in place, puts his helmet on, then pulls Luke into the cockpit carefully. Luke groans as his back scrapes over the edge of the cockpit, the jacket doing little to soften the rough metal edge. They barely fit into the small space, Luke’s body pressed tight against Poe’s, his body curled into Poe’s lap. Luke grimaces with every small shift that Poe makes to get buckled in. Luke lets out a cry when Poe shifts to reach the controls, and Poe murmurs an apology before he realizes that Luke’s passed out again.

With shaking hands, he closes the cockpit. It shuts, nearly brushing Luke’s head where it rests against Poe’s shoulder.

“Let’s get out of here,” Poe says, quickly starting up the fighter. “R2, do a quick scan for those TIE fighters. I don’t want to lift off of they’re too close.”

R2 beeps affirmatively, then outputs the scan’s results on the main monitor. Poe has to shift Luke to see, then sighs when he reads the all clear.

Poe wedges his arm around Luke’s body to grab the steering column, then lifts off. He breaks through the tree cover and throws the fighter into top speed, screaming towards the atmosphere. He’s bursts into space, Abraxin falling away behind him, when R2 starts beeping frantically.

A TIE fighter shrieks past, then a second. Poe starts cursing, then types the coordinates for Dravione into his navigational computer, Luke groaning in pain as Poe leans forward to reach the controls. The computer lights up with warnings, but he ignores them, turning off the alarms as the third and final TIE flies past.

“Poe,” Luke says, his breath ghosting over Poe’s skin. “Poe, I’m sorry. I should’ve — “

“Not now, Captain,” Poe says, teeth gritted, heart racing. “Tell me when we get back. We’re going to have plenty of time to talk after this, dammit.”

Poe swallows, readies the craft for the jump, and eyes the three TIE fighters as they wheel around and start heading straight for him and Luke.

“This is going to get bumpy,” Poe says, shifting Luke one more time. The older man groans again, but nods slightly.

Poe punches it, watches as the TIE fighters warp around the sides of the canopy to fade into streaks of white light. The X-wing shakes, the inertial dampeners fighting to keep the craft steady, jostling Poe and Luke around the cockpit. The increased weight and the poorly calculated jump are stressing the craft, and spacetime is warping around them in strange ways. The computer doesn’t know how to account for the extra weight of Luke’s body in the cockpit, so Poe is having to struggle to keep them from crashing into the nearly invisible gravity wells that fill hyperspace, frantically trying to enter calculations into the computer with blood-slick fingers.

Poe isn’t bounced around that much, the buckles holding him still as the ship jumps around him, but Luke isn’t as lucky. Poe wraps his arms around Luke, pulling him close, trying to protect him from the shuddering motion of the ship. Luke grabs onto Poe’s arm with his good arm, pulls him close. Poe grabs at the stick, just barely keeping the ship under control.

“Stay focused,” Luke says, voice still quiet, but tone firm. “I trust you.”

Poe nods, throat tight, and waits for the computer to signal the need to exit hyperspace. The ship grows quiet except for Luke’s panting breath, the jittering sound of the fighter’s instrumentation moving around in its casing, and the roaring heartbeat in Poe’s ears. It’s broken by the shriek of his alarm, and then he’s pulling them out of hyperspace, the familiar shape of Dravione appearing in front of them.

“We’re going to make another jump,” Poe says, banking the ship awkwardly to get his bearing correct. “And we’re going to be doing it quickly.”

“Poe,” Luke says, eyes closed, teeth gritted. “I need you to promise me something.”

“Don’t,” Poe says, voice breaking. “We’re going to get you back to  _ Home One _ , and you’re going to be fine.”

“I’m not going to be fine,” Luke says. His voice is suddenly clear, forceful. Something about it makes Poe want to scream.

“Promise me.”

“Fine,” Poe says, the word burning his lips as it rushes from his mouth. It tastes like ash, takes like an end.

“Tell Leia I’m sorry. And don’t waste your life mourn— “

“I’ll tell her,” Poe spits out, cutting off whatever Luke wanted to say. He swallows back tears, then starts entering new coordinates into the navigational computer. His R2 starts beeping warnings about ships getting ready to exit hyperspace, and he punches the ship into lightspeed, leaving Dravione behind.

This ride is a little smoother, the area of hyperspace they’re traveling through less crowded with debris, but the atmosphere is tense inside the cockpit. Poe can feel it when Luke passes out again, the sudden loosening of his body, the limp weight against his arms and chest. He can feel warm blood seeping into his flight suit, the fabric sticking to his skin. Poe tries to focus on the instrumentation, but it’s hard to see through the tears threatening to fall.

“Not like this,” he says, nearly whispers. “You promised me an after, dammit. I’m holding you to it.”

They jump out of hyperspace,  _ Home One _ a bright shining beacon in front of them. Poe doesn’t smile, doesn’t feel any sense of elation. Luke’s not breathing, and there’s no more time.


	6. Epilogue

Two Weeks Later

\---

Poe stumbles out of his X-wing, exhausted and unsteady. The walk back to his quarters is a blur, the hallways running one into the other, until he stops in front of the familiar door and enters his passcode. It slides open, and he falls into the dark space. He doesn’t glance over to the other end of the room, to the empty, stale bed, just heads straight to his smaller room where he strips, then falls into his bed.

They’d done it. It had taken weeks of planning, hours upon hours of meetings, and then that final, desperate flight, but they’d taken out the Empire’s weapon. Because that’s what it had been: a space station capable of destroying entire planets, a terrible weapon in the hands of a terrible enemy.

He hadn’t been the one to fire the explosives that had finished it, but he’d been there. He’d watched the entire structure burst into flames, the explosion rocketing debris after the Rebel fighters as they’d fled into hyperspace.

He closes his eyes, tries to sleep, but his mind won’t slow down, won’t stop. All he can think about is the massive explosion, of blood in the fibers of his flight suit, of blue eyes that won’t open. With a sigh, he climbs out of bed and slides his clothes back on, his feet already anxious to walk a familiar path.

The medbay is surprisingly empty. Most of the Alliance is celebrating their victory, and beside a nurse bot or two, Poe’s the only person on his feet. He makes his way to one of the private suites, then opens the door.

Luke is curled up on the bed, tubes and wires moving in and out of his body. His right side had been wrapped in bandages, but his body is healing well, so they’ve been removed. He has a bright red line across his forehead from where he’d been cut, and an angry line of stitches in his upper arm from the glass that had gone all the way through. His right hand is still a tight ball of gauze, though.

Poe pulls a chair up next to the bed, then falls into it. It’s a familiar motion, one he’s repeated a dozen times since he rushed Luke into the medbay, unwilling to hand him over to anyone else except the doctors. He leans forward, rests his head in his hands, before reaching out to grab Luke’s left hand.

“Time for you to wake up, Captain,” Poe murmurs, squeezing Luke’s hand tight in his own. “We’ve got a vacation to take, and I’m getting impatient. You keep this up, I’m just going to go on my own.”

Luke’s eyes stay shut. Poe sighs, then presses a gentle kiss against Luke’s knuckles.

“I miss you,” he says against Luke’s skin, eyes shut tight, throat constricted. “Come back to me, please.”

“Staff Sergeant.”

The voice startles Poe, and he drops Luke’s hand to stand and face the door. It’s General Organa, and he quickly falls to attention, tired body protesting the sharp, precise motion.

“General.”

“None of that,” she says, sounding weary. “Not here. Please,” she waves back at the chair, then goes to grab her own. “Sit.”

Poe slowly lowers himself back into his chair, eyeing the General while she settles on the other side of Luke’s bed, rests her hands over his bandaged one.

“How is he?” She asks, meeting Poe’s gaze.

“Same,” he says with a shrug. “There hasn’t been any change, though the doctors say he’s healing well.”

Leia nods, then stares at Luke’s still face for a long moment. Poe watches her gather herself, waits for whatever she’s about to say.

“I’m sending you out,” she says, and he goes to protest, but she cuts him off.

“I understand you want to be here when he wakes up, but I need you. The Alliance needs you. Now that we’ve destroyed that station, the Empire is going to react, and it’s going to be soon. I need to have spies in the Inner Rim, ready to react to whatever intelligence they can get. With Luke… indisposed, I need his backup.”

“General, I know, but I can’t —”

“Poe,” she says, and her voice is weary and heartbroken. “I understand, but he’d want you to do it.”

Poe’s chest clenches into an unbearable ache. He wants to curl into it, wants to let the grief pour out onto the too-white floor of the medbay like blood pooled in a cockpit’s deck. Instead, he sits up straight, meets her eyes unflinchingly, Luke’s still hand cradled under his fingers.

“When do I leave?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone gets too upset at the ending, there's a second part in the works. I'm about halfway through writing it, and I hope to have it posted within a month.
> 
> Thank you all for hanging out with me during this fic! It was a blast to write, and I've really enjoyed talking to everyone who's taking the time to comment. :) Again, much love to virtualdon and leugapus. You guys are awesome.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to virtualdon for her constant cheerleading/berating that I get this written. Also thanks to leupagus for her incredibly inspiring fic, [to the sky without wings](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5609887/chapters/12925093). If you haven't read it yet, go do that now.
> 
> I'll be posting a new chapter about once a week, so keep your eyes peeled for updates.


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